


Public Relations

by AlyxSvoboda125



Series: The Industry [7]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Actors, Alternate Universe - Actors, Alternate Universe - Music, Canon Character of Color, Canon Gay Relationship, Celebrities, Dysfunctional Family, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Family Secrets, Gen, Hollywood, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, London, Los Angeles, M/M, Multi, Musicians, Romance, Secret Relationship, Social Issues, Social Media, Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-14
Updated: 2018-03-16
Packaged: 2019-02-14 19:14:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 60
Words: 211,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13014357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlyxSvoboda125/pseuds/AlyxSvoboda125
Summary: From the first moment popstar Theodore Maverick lays eyes on Harry Benton-Sterling, he's in love...or at least in lust.  Harry is mildly impressed by his professionalism, turned off by his profession, and entirely leery about his struggle with addiction.  Their lifestyles couldn't be more different, Maverick lives for the spotlight and Harry's a PR fixer that manipulates from the shadows.  But they're both liars.  Maverick lies about his sexuality, his past, and his struggles; Harry lies about all the same things to people closest to him.  They're too similar to resist attraction for long, but a casual affair quickly becomes a relationship.  But a relationship built on lies, addiction, and fear is a powder keg waiting to explode, and their tenuous relationship (let alone careers) may not be strong enough to withstand the destruction. (This is a part of a series but can be read as a standalone)





	1. "You Don't Know Me" by Jax Jones, RAYE

**Author's Note:**

> Do you remember months (over a year ago actually) when I promised that this was forthcoming and then I disappeared. I apologize. I was in a fantasy kink. Then my agent search got depressing and graduate school sucked, and this happened. But it is happening. It's over halfway written which is a little unreal since I started this maybe two weeks ago, but I think this is my favorite book in serious mostly because Harry and Theodore are vicious and so much fun.

**Radio interview with Maverick**

**Interviewer:** You seen pretty confident.

 **Maverick:** Do I? Let me know. I don’t want to go into this throwing up cockiness and arrogance. Technically I’m a surfing penguin not a rooster.

 **Interviewer:** Is this a movie reference I’m missing?

 **Maverick:** I’m gonna be honest, I’m very disappointed in you.

 **Interviewer:** Really, though, how confident are you about winning best male pop artist at the PCAs?

 **Maverick:** More confident than I am about performing at the show.

 **Interviewer:** But you’re an actor! Aren’t these kind of the same career paths.

 **Maverick:** Not really, dude. If I f…scre… _mess_ up on set we just do the scene over again. Can’t stop the PCAs because I fudged a note, you know?

 **Interviewer:** You mess up your scenes a lot, Mav?

 **Maverick:** Obviously, I’m like the biracial, male, less blonde Marilyn Monroe. Except, she was a fake blonde wasn’t she? I’m calling foul.

 **Interviewer:** On her blondness?

 **Maverick:** No, on _mine_. She can’t be more blonde than me; I’m a natural and she’s phony. I’m protesting dye jobs.

 **Interviewer:** _(sniggers_ ) That’s not what I’ve heard about you.

 **Maverick:** …starting now.

 

**Harry Benton-Sterling (@HaroldBSterling)**

The only thing good about Cali are the food trucks #realtalk #foodie

 

**Text message from Rosie**

**Rosie:** Where the hell do I buy a turkey for a tribe in Ldn?

 **Harry:** I’m working here.

 **Rosie:** Ok but im feeding a clan of ppl

 **Rosie:** I need u more

 **Harry:** I s2g you’ve done this b4.

 **Rosie:** U cant prove anything.

 **Rosie:** Think ur mom knows?

 **Rosie:** Think my mom knows?

 **Harry:** Ffs call my stepdad.

 

**Johanna Adelaide (@Jo_Ade)**

Watching @HaroldBSterling try not to condescend ppl might b the hghlght of my day B)

 

**Maverick (@MaverickOfficial)**

Practice practice and more practice #peopleschoiceawards

 

**Maverick (@MaverickOfficial)**

There’s such a thing as a pre-show party?

 

**Maverick (@MaverickOfficial)**

\O/ yes there #hallelujah #booze

* * *

Harry remembered the day he met Johanna Adelaide with all the fondness of a really bad acid trip accompanied by copious amounts of vomit and migraine-inducing hallucinations.

Working for Dissident Management had been an excellent way to add some complexity and dimension to his CV, but beyond that it had never really been in his career goals. Of course being a massive overachiever, he’d managed to attract the total wrong kind of attention in the form of the human hurricane Johanna “Satan’s Mistress” Adelaide who, rather unwilling, ruled the crisis management end of Dissident’s PR with all the force of a malevolent dictator gene-spliced with Satan.

“You,” she’d declared offhandedly as she stalked into the tiny room lacking oxygen and smelling strongly of intern-specific BO. Johanna had grabbed him by the arm, hauled him into the office of Dissident’s director of operations while his secretary sputtered in disbelief. “I want him.”

That had been the end of it. His whole life sealed with three words and a pint-sized demon-woman whose powers seemed to fail only on the clientele he wished on shooting stars would bend to her will like everyone else in the entertainment industry seemed to.

Like he had when he’d agreed to supervise a handful of Dissident’s high profile clients at Kimberly Lakshmi’s pre-People’s Choice Awards party that not a single public relations team wasn’t cursing.

Honestly, wasn’t there enough drama at the show and after parties?

Standing in a room surrounded by the maelstrom of celebrity self-importance, Harry wondered what they draw to fame was. From his position hiding in the kitchen of Kimberly’s rented Santa Monica beach house, Harry didn’t see anything worth obsessing over. The music was too loud, the crowd too raucuous, the dancing just on the wrong side of raunchy. Alcohol had been carefully monitored with the award show so close at hand, but that hadn’t stopped more than a few of the attendees to crack open the stashes of marijuana and cocaine. The latter had been gathered in neat lines on the coffee table with a crowd of models, actors, and singers surrounding it. The former had coalesced into a smoky backdrop that stung Harry’s nose and throat.

Alcohol, parties, even marijuana, he generally had no problem with.

He’d grown up running barefoot through his father’s Irish pub in Hendon where college students smoked spliffs in the bathroom and sold ectasy tablets when they partied in the rented upstairs room.

Harry had a problem with a lack of professionalism.

He was a consummate professional, and celebrities were…

His eyes followed a giggling model wrapped around a recognizable hip-hop artist. She swayed dangerously, pupils blown, and stumbled over her own high heels. His own blitzed state didn’t enable him the ability to catch her, and instead she tumbled to the floor, fall broken by the chair an actor and a singer were making out on. She landed on her bony butt and tossed her head back laughing, tears welling in her eyes while the man who’d dropped her stumbled on, completely unsympathetic to her plight.

“They’re not always this bad,” he heard someone whisper in his ear.

Startling, Harry turned to find a diminutive Persian girl teetering unsteadily on high heels beside him. Her hair was hidden by a beautiful, delicate cream and rose-patterned hijab, dress figure hugging but not as revealing as most of the room’s ensembles. Her words were accented with a crisp British accented that hinted more at a Manchester dialect than his own allegedly posh accent. She tugged at the bell sleeves of her dress and smiled at him gently, stealing a plastic cup from the counter to pour herself some sprite.

“You know who I am?”

“Nope.”

“That makes two of us,” she teased gently, leaning towards him with a glimmer of amusement in her eye. She held out a free hand. “Yasmin Samara. I hail from Stockport.”

“Ah,” Harry remarked thoughtfully, still not quite placing her. There were a fair few personal assistants, managers, and publicists milling around ensure the party didn’t become too rowdy. Harry wasn’t sure what these people considered ‘too rowdy,’ though. It had taken fifteen minutes, the first whiff of marijuana, and the opening bars of Jason Derulo’s ‘Swalla’ to make Disney starlets turn into strippers. Still, Yasmin didn’t carry herself like one of the attempted invisible PAs. She’d come to be seen. “Outside Manchester.”

“And you are?” She persisted.

“Working,” he stated curtly.

“Apparently,” she returned with a faint huff of amusement. “I can’t have a name.”

Harry paused in perusing the room with disgusted disinterest to turn towards her. His eyebrows rose and head cocked just enough to be condescending. He was always condescending; Johanna said it was his best quality when working with celebrity clients drunk off their own importance. Less so with the executives and higher-ups when he should lower his head and submit.

He didn’t have that sort of constitution, and he never had.

“Did your parent’s not give you one?” Harry retorted coolly.

“Harry!” Someone hissed behind him.

‘Harry,’ Yasmin mouthed, crossing her arms over her chest with amusement and leaning around him to see the person rushing up behind him.

He didn’t need to look.

From the words alone, he’d placed the source of interruption at the feet of Diamond Katrin. Her qualifications looked scanty: a single course at her university, three months internship, and a recent hire that Harry would never say was some sort of American affirmative action campaign but could hardly be anything but. She looked tough with fierce tattoos, resting bitch face, and a couple bars through her eyebrows and a nose ring, but looks weren’t everything. And Diamond was a soft touch.

A soft touch that loved to lecture to him about the importance of kissing ass.

“Diamond,” Harry sighed, turning to face her. He swept his cup of lukewarm coke off the counter and raised his eyebrows at her. Bringing the cup to his lip, took a sip, and fought the wince that threatened. Disgusting. Lukewarm, semi-carbonated piss. Keeping ahold of it pointedly, Harry managed to swallow the liquid and smile placidly at Diamond. “Is there a problem?”

Yasmin snickered while Diamond blanched, her warm brown skin fading to a sickened, ashen shade that had him narrowing his eyes on her.

Diamond knew Yasmin.

Persian. Muslim. British.

Azadi, he realized abruptly without feeling even a shred of remorse for his actions. Yasmin may have been trying to be nice, offer reassurance, but less than a year working with celebrities, and Harry had been conditioned to doubt their motives. Duplicitous snakes the lot of them. The few he could stand, namely his close friend’s closeted boyband boyfriend came with their own set of risks. Even now, Harry didn’t trust Cris Emerson, he didn’t trust Breaking Fourth, but he trusted Irial. For now that would have to be enough.

“Are you on the rag?” Diamond blurted, face purpling with rage now that she’d gained wordless assurance that Yasmin didn’t blame this debacle on _her_. Harry raised his eyebrows and considered answering before taking another masochistic swig of the stale coke in his cup. He’d let this one play out. “Did your dog die? Missing your girlfriend?”

With a benign smile, Harry continued staring at her.

“No?” Diamond continued without his input. “Then why would you talk to a client like that?”

“Whose client? Not mine,” Harry pointed out, unforgiving.

Yasmin propped herself up on the counter, legs crossed and regarding the pair of them with interest. Like a bug under a microscope. A devilish glint in her eye.

This is why Harry didn’t trust celebrities.

“Does that matter? There’s a level of professionalism!”

Harry couldn’t help but let his eyes trail over her figure at that valiant pronouncement. Diamond’s version of ‘professional’ was hot pink lipstick, hoops that brushed her shoulders, an outdated House of Dereon dress a size too small that left little to the imagination and none at all if she bent over, along with a pair of those hideous sneaker heels. Her nails were fake talon bedazzled with rhinestones that matched her sparkly pink mobile phone case and the badge hanging around her neck.

At his look, Diamond’s expression darkened dangerously. She looked the type who’d upended shirt and bra to march down the street chanting that she was still not asking for it in a blatant and uncreative taunt to would-be rapists and people with old school morals. The type to slap him clear across the face if he commented on her outfitting choices. The type to scream until he waved away his protests and allowed her to verbally bully him into something that looked similar but was truthfully so incredibly different from submission.

Naturally, he didn’t say anything about her personally.

Instead, Harry gazed around the room pointedly and asked, “Where?”

“Why are you so – ?” Diamond started.

“Hey, are you almost ready to…” the words trailed off as three pairs of eyes swiveled towards the second girl to wander into the room. Also Persian but lacking Yasmin’s diminutive stature and understated beauty.

This girl, Harry recognized.

Azadi was not necessarily in his purview as a fledging pop band that had yet to see the sorts of scandals he and Johanna dealt with. But Alina Rosen’s exceptional beauty, unapologetic curves, and rebellious attitude with a winning smile had earned her international attention. And then there was her _voice_.

Dark eyes took in the three of them, lengthy eyelashes batting and signature crimson lips pursed together inquisitively. Unlike Yasmin, Alina stood confidently on her beige Fendi heels and proud in a red and black flair lace dress. Thick dark hair cascading over her shoulders to her waist in professionally styled layers, and her lips curved up in a coy smile as she leaned against the doorframe. A second body nearly ran into her, until she dropped her hand to catch the wrist of Shahnaz Attar in her hand. The band’s resident pretty boy coming up short behind her and blinking owlishly as he gazed between Harry and Yasmin.

“We late?”

Yasmin shook her head and sipped her Sprite delicately.

“Diamond was just having a talk with the publicist.”

“Whose publicist?”

“Dissident’s,” Yasmin said shortly.

Alina hummed in understanding and studied Harry intently, though Shahnaz seemed to have flipped from politely puzzled to openly hostile.

“Melanie’s sending us a car to bring us to the theater. Are you ready?”

“Are _you_ ready?” Yasmin returned, hopping down from the counter with a last, long look towards Harry. Sniffing delicately, she dropped the cup in the trash, dramatic exit somewhat hindered by her clear inability to walk in high heels.

Shahnaz stepped out to grab ahold of her, her hand gripping his bicep and his sliding around her waist.

Harry watched their interactions with interest. He’d heard things about Azadi. Things whispered in boardroom meetings and publicity round-table discussions. The executives were still hoping the rumors died, that the dirt kicked around from their entrance into the industry would settle into something more manageable. He hadn’t paid much attention then, hadn’t seen the point, but looking at them now, he thought maybe he’d have to start.

Especially when Alina stepped in his gaze to wrench it away from Shahnaz and Yasmin.

She smiled, fake and brittle.

“What’d he do?” Alina asked Diamond archly. “Too nosy,” she purred.

“Condescending to the clients is never allowed. It’s the first rule of any relationship in this industry don’t you know that? Or do they not teach pricks like you that in England?” She asked, sneering the word on her tongue. This too Harry received in America with alarming frequency. One hip-hop star had accused him of being the reason her ancestors had been enslaved. Considering half his ancestors were part of the forced Irish migration of indentured servants and the other half had been poor enough to live in the workhouses, Harry rather doubted it, but knew at least when to shut up to avoid getting his teeth kicked in.

Silence, though, didn’t make it untrue.

It also wouldn’t teach Diamond anything.

“He works crisis management,” Alina offered on his behalf.

His eyebrows rose, and he glanced back at her curiously. Alina’s answering smile was both weak and sarcastic, a last hurrah before she spun on her heel and stalked out of the kitchen to follow her bandmates while rolling her eyes. Nodding, he turned back to Diamond.

“I work crisis management. I only see clients when publicists like you screw up. Big time. And by then, people don’t need to be coddled. They need their ass kicked.”

Diamond’s expression dropped.

Harry’s eyebrows rose, pleasant smile spreading across his face. “Anything else?”

For a moment, Diamond appeared conflicted before her expression smoothed out, shoulders drooping. She bit her bottom lip nervously and stepped closer to him. His eyes narrowed examining her thoughtfully. She was ashamed. Whatever this was. Whatever she needed to say both worried and frightened her. That had never been a good sign when dealing with celebrities. His first day on crisis management, he’d seen that face on a 9-year publicist before announcing her client’s spotless reputation had been marred by a rumored sexual liaison with an under-aged girl.

If it had been America, there would be no covering that up.

Since it was England and she’d done so purposefully, Johanna had swept it under the rug.

It still made Harry feel dirty on more than one account.

“I…my…can’t…” Diamond muttered, looking up at him from beneath her eyelashes, tearfully.

“Repeat that?”

Diamond inhaled deeply and rolled back her shoulders. “I…I lost my client.”

“What?”

“I can’t find him.”

“Who?” Harry sighed.

Diamond tensed but admitted, “Maverick.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because of the current American climate, I feel like I need to state first off I am biracial, Harry is not racist, and Diamond is based on a real person that I know. That being said he has a very low tolerance for political correctness, tiptoeing around sensitive subjects, and being condescended to. This will be you only warning. It doesn't come up often, but it's impossible to discuss celebrity culture without also discussing politics however peripherally.


	2. "Whatever You On" by Jeremih, Young Thug, Ty Dolla

**Text message from Johanna**

**Johanna:** How’s it going?

**Harry:** U suck

**Johanna:** You mean youre not having a great time?

**Harry:** Cant tlk now

**Johanna:** Why?

**Johanna:** Harry why?

**Johanna:** Answer me now.

**Harry:** Looking 4 lost popstar

**Johanna:** Not ours right?

**Johanna:** Harry!!!!!

 

**Teddy Langston (@TM_1996)**

Drugs and sex and music and alcohol. Rinse. Repeat. Refresh

 

**Anamarija Kovac (@thatanamarija)**

No one parties quite like @KimberlyLakshmi @nicya_monoya @MaverickOfficial ;)

 

**Harry Benton-Sterling (@HaroldBSterling)**

@rosieposie do you ever just hate your job?

 

**Irish Rose (@rosieposie)**

@HaroldBSterling do I ever just hate songwriting with @sorensoars? No.

 

**Dorian Gray II (@DorianII)**

@HaroldBSterling the poor baby spending a week in Los Angeles and attending the #PeoplesChoiceAwards

 

**Harry Benton-Sterling (@HaroldBSterling)**

I have the worst friends -_-

 

**Text message to Teddy**

**Rory:** Where are you? Diamond’s freaking out.

**Rory:** Please tell me you’re sober.

**Rory:** To clarify my sober not yours.

 

**Text message to Theodore**

**Washington:** I know you didn’t leave

**Washington:** Im outside smoking cigs with ur driver

**Washington:** Call me if you need me

**Washington:** Or just come outside. Whatevs.

 

**Text message to Maverick**

**Preston:** I’m not in the mood to play around with you.

**Preston:** Where the fuck are you Mav?

**Preston:** Call me. NOW.

* * *

 

The music was loud. The champagne was warm. And the girl pressing herself against his arm was both sloshed and insistent.

Theodore couldn’t remember her name.

He’d met her before. Twice, he thought. Once on a yacht party in the Mediterranean Sea that he’d been coerced into going on by Latin music sensation, Dixon Martinez, and once during a Victoria Secret Fashion Show when she’d been young enough to make him uncomfortable seeing her stalk down a runway in lingerie. No matter how decorative. He knew she was European…eastern, maybe? He knew that she’d publicly had a fling with Breaking Fourth’s well and true playboy, Benji Irving, before fading into obscurity when her short-lived acting career had imploded.

With dark eyes, long dyed red hair, and long eyelashes, Theodore couldn’t deny that the girl–whoever she was–looked beautiful. Her heels were too high though, her dress too short, and skin almost totally bare with massive sheer cutouts decorated by patterned lace. She looked like a hooker. Not that he’d ever comment on it. He’d learned that lesson when the first time he’d critiqued Chloe Masters’s clothing choices and ended up with a slap across the face.

That being said, Theodore hadn’t been wrong.

Still, if the model looked like a hooker, Theodore could only imagine how he looked. Somewhere between a wannabe gangster, post-pubescent Justin Bieber, and one of those trendy DJs. In a pair of ripped and distressed black jeans, a Diesel t-shirt, and a leather jacket, Theodore felt like he was posing as being grunge fashion chic. The only thing on his body that actually felt like it belonged to him were the boots and the leather baseball cap backwards on his head, ombre light brown curls braided back into cornrows. Not the top of the line phone. Not the wallet in his pocket. Not even the Rolex on his wrist, the one he’d bought. Like he was wearing someone else’s skin, clothes, and girlfriend.

Theodore’s eyes fell on the model.

She smiled up at him, eyes a little unfocused, grin a little too wide, and perfume diluted with the acrid stench of alcohol.

“You’re having fun aren’t you, Mav?” The girl asked, looping an arm around Maverick’s neck to try and tug him down to her level. He shifted uncomfortably but resisted the pull, outright ignoring her pout. Pushing to stand on her tiptoes, the model pressed her lips to the column of his neck, the sticky lipstick leaving a mark on the dusky, light brown skin. “Come on, Mav, don’t you want me? Don’t you still think I’m pretty? You wanted me in Greece,” she purred delightedly.

It clicked suddenly.

Anamarija. Fuck.

Kimberly caught his stricken expression from across the room where her insistence on her heterosexuality was taking a serious hit from a conversation with YouTuber, Tea Stephenson, who was handsy and flirty and making no attempts to hide her attraction to Kimberly. The hip-hop maven leaned over to swoop one of the champagne flutes off the pool table, shuffling across the room to slip the drink into Theodore’s hand.

Anamarija’s hand tightened on the fabric of his shirt, eyes narrowing at Kimberly like she was some kind of territorial threat. Like Anamarija was a cat mere seconds away from pissing on him to mark ownership. Never one to be concerned over a jealous woman, Kimberly’s eyes flitted over the model with disdain, abruptly dismissing her as inconsequential, to land on him.

“You need another drink,” Kimberly leaned in to whisper conspiratorially. He couldn’t argue.

“Obviously,” Theodore remarked uncomfortably, raising the champagne flute to his lips to chug down the alcohol in a single shot. He set it down on the shelf behind him and watched Kimberly walk back towards Tea, hips moving seductively, and a licentious glimmer in her eye. One that matched Anamarija’s lecherous gaze only taken down several dozen notches to the point where it wasn’t all consuming and incredibly awkward to witness. Let alone be the object of such a heated look. He wasn’t wearing enough layers to sink into his clothes like a turtle and hide from her eyes on him.

“Mav,” she purred, pouting her lips and running her nails through his teased out curls. “Maverick.”

“Ana,” Theodore said aiming for a smooth delivery but feeling his tone shake beneath the weight of his discomfort. His skin was crawling. Goosebumps rising despite the heat of dozens of bodies pressed together in close contact. His fingers gone numb from the desire to run. He shifted from foot to foot, eyes darting to the cracked open door at the far end of the room. His tongue peeked out unconsciously to wet his dry, cracked lips. “Ana,” he tried again, more firmly this time.

A pair of models tugged a young, giggly singer behind them, from the corner of the room to the pool table. One pulled out a baggy from her clutch purse with a sly smile and a dollar bill to sort the cocaine into lines.

A jolt when through Theodore. He swallowed and tore his eyes away and back to Anamarija, batting her eyelashes up at him.

“Baby,” Anamarija said coyly, poised on her feet to whisper in his ear, “you should have just told me you were jonesing.”

Theodore’s whole body went still, palms sweating, heart pounding so furiously he could hear it racing in his ears. A bead of sweat dripped from his hairline, and he could feel its warm, wet descent over his temple and down his cheekbone.

_Don’t look. Don’t look. Don’t look_.

The delicate clearing of a throat interrupted both of them.

Eyes shifting to the man now standing in front of them, Theodore’s breath expelled from his lungs in a single rush of air. Like he’d been hit by a train. Even through the buzz of three glasses of champagnes, the draw of the cocaine lines on the table, and the girl hanging from his neck like a monkey, Theodore felt blindsided.

Gorgeous wasn’t enough of a word to describe him. Tall, lean, and svelte with the creamy, lightly freckled skin of a Brit. His hair was a silky cinnamon brown that fell to his jawline in neatly styled waves, eyes a dark green. Everything about him screamed beauty, the classic kind belonging to old school film stars. His suit was an unobtrusive gray wool fitted to his athletic figure, the shirt a simple black, and tie forgone for a stylish Burberry scarf. One hand was in the pocket of his pant, jacket pushed back, while the other clutched a mobile phone against his thigh, claddagh ring tapping against the phone.

He also looked mean. And curious. Eyes scanning Theodore and Anamarija clinically.

Abruptly, his green eyes flickered to Theodore. On instinct, he flinched, waiting for the verbal rebuke. Instead, the man asked, “Do you want her to go?”

The silence between them was deafening.

Anamarija inhaled deeply and opened her mouth in preparation to snap curtly, but Theodore had already begun nodding. Timidly, like he was shy. Like he was unused to this kind of behavior. This kind of attention. And like he believed this guy–whoever he was–would do anything about it.

The man nodded and turned his gaze onto Anamarija. The expression was flat and flinty.

In a stunning display of self-awareness, Anamarija winced away from that gaze, releasing Theodore on instinct and crossing her arms like she was trying to protect herself. Theodore stepped away, seeming to snap Anamarija out of her fear. Her chin raised defiantly, tightening those crossed arms uneasily.

“Cockblocker,” Anamarija hissed acidly as she started to walk away. She paused just beside the man who didn’t turn his head to look at her.

He smiled pleasantly and tipped up his chin. “Tell me: is that better or worse than being a slut?”

Anamarija’s triumphant smile fell. She stalked away coldly, and the man turned his attention onto Theodore.

That gaze both warmed and chilled him in turn. Nothing friendly lurked there but neither did any real condemnation. Even if there had been, with that face and the body Theodore could tell hid beneath the fitted tailoring of that suit. Theodore swallowed but without the model wrapped around him like an octopus his confidence returned, and he managed not to cower beneath that scathingly critical gaze.

“Are you high?”

“Not yet,” Theodore admitted, surprising himself.

It surprised the man in front him too, though not it seemed from the admission. His eyebrows furrowed in confusion, the intensity fading enough to give him a little comfort. Tilting his head, the man studied Theodore curiously.

“Why not yet?”

His own confusion made an appearance this time. “I perform in an hour,” he said somewhat defensively, “that’s so unprofessional.”

A strange look crossed the man’s face, and he nodded.

“Let’s go,” he ordered without expecting dissent, “before the mass exodus.”

Theodore knew better than to follow some random stranger, no matter his fashion sense and no matter his attractiveness. Nonetheless, Theodore followed behind him like a stray kitten, drawn to his presence, harsh and austere as it was, through the thick crowd of the house, clouded with the stench of a marijuana cloud and thrumming with the bass of the house music blaring through the speakers.

“Who are you?” Theodore demanded as he pulled up beside the man.

A smile flitted over his face, eyes sliding towards Theodore before darting away rapidly. Instead of heading for the front door, Theodore was guided around to the side.

“Shouldn’t you have asked that first?”

“Shouldn’t you have offered? Everyone knows who I am. You’re the stranger here,” Theodore pointed out.

“Then why are you following me?” The man asked, pausing and whirling around to hold Theodore’s gaze. One hand rested on the doorknob, and his eyes seemed to examine Theodore’s soul. Instead of flinching, he straightened, feeling electrified by the tension between the pair of them and the acrimony that sparked from the man’s every word and crackled over his skin like localized fireworks displays. Theodore tilted back his chin and didn’t say a word, allowing the tension between them to built, heat become cloying. Theodore stepped into his space, and for just a moment, those eyes flickered down to his lips before returning to his eyes with a cool grin. “I could be anyone. I could be paparazzi. You don’t know me.”

Theodore cocked his head. “You have an PCA event badge with Dissident’s name on a lanyard around your neck. You dress too subtle to be a celebrity, but you’re too flashy to be paparazzi. Not management, I think, you’re too disgusted by celebrities or a PA because you don’t kiss ass. Publicist?”

A smile both genuine ad cruel spread across the man’s lips, and he yanked open the door, waving Theodore through.

With a smirk at the man, Theodore moved forward, shivering at the warm, salty breeze that washed over him from the Pacific Ocean. His eyes fell first on his part-time driver, Oscar Mejia, in an ill-fitted suit that didn’t seem to fit his carefree personality, dark brown curls beneath a skullcap. He sat cross-legged on the hood of the SUV smoking a cigarette with Theodore’s bodyguard of six years, Washington Leverett. A mountain of a man with tight curls shorn close to his skull and dark brown skin and eyes. Washington had been a godsent; when they’d met he’d been an aimless Marine discharged from the military and unsure where to go from there.

Washington looked up with a smile that died when his eyes landed and hardened on the man.

“Theodore–” Washington started.

Oscar hopped off the hood, whistling long and low. Pretending that he had no what was happening, Oscar yanked on the latch of the door, opening it for Theodore to slide in. Theodore paused, glancing between Washington and the publicist who seemed unperturbed by Washington’s ire. Eyebrows rose in disbelief, Oscar looked to Theodore, hooking a thumb over his shoulder at the pair of them pointedly.

Theodore shrugged and slipped inside.

“Is Diamond done harassing the whole world about my being lost?”

“I’ll send her a message,” the publicist stated before anyone else could. Washington’s expression darkened. Theodore raised his eyebrows, still in the doorway, and the man gestured sharply to the car. “Get in. Let’s go.”

Scoffing, Theodore did as he was bade. He didn’t necessarily hope that the publicist would come along, but he couldn’t deny the relief he felt when the man settled onto the seat beside him, phone in hand and utterly unconcerned by both Oscar and Washington’s skepticism towards his presence. Theodore settled, relaxing into the seat and crossing his legs.

“Is Rory with Claire?” Theodore asked.

“Yeah, apparently some shipment of Alexander McQueen got lost in transit.”

“Well, that’s going to have to be dealt with,” Theodore remarked absently, “before anyone explodes. Anything else I missed in the two minutes I was out of contact?”

Clearing his throat, Washington threw Oscar a look that the man ignored. The publicist looked up from his phone, gaze moving between the pair in the front seat with interest. His eyebrows began rising slowly. And Washington cleared his throat awkwardly, “You’ll have to discuss that with Preston.”

Theodore couldn’t help the sound of disgust that escaped him. His body grew taut, jaw clenching. He pursed his lips and turned his head to glare out the window. “Of course I will,” he muttered darkly.

Rolling his eyes, Theodore raised his knees, resting his boots against the back of the seat. He felt the publicist’s eyes on him, and though he colored in embarrassment at his obvious temper tantrum, he didn’t relent, pulling his notebook from his back pocket and a pen from the inside of his boot. The notebook itself was leather bound with a tree embossed on the front. Inside was nothing but pages and pages of scribbled chord progressions, tore pages, and fragmented lyrics that he never wanted anyone to see.

“Also,” Washington added almost timidly, “Mabel called.”

This time Theodore only raised his eyebrows without looking up from the notebook in his lap. He felt the publicist’s eyes shift away from him to gaze at Washington. “Aren’t she and Curtis on a cruise?”

“They are. For their anniversary. You ought to know,” Washington teased lightly.

Theodore rolled his eyes. “What does she need? Or is she calling to scold me about the Evangeline Rice thing?”

At this, the publicist snorted and shook his head. Theodore gave up writing to glare at the man. Washington narrowed his eyes on the man in the rearview mirror, but the publicist seemed unmoved by either of their ire. He flipped his mobile phone around in his hand and tapped it against his knee with a wry smile curving up his lips. Turning his head towards Theodore, the man pointed a finger at him with amusement.

“You’re the Godfrey Group, aren’t you? I assumed so with Preston Duke as your management but that means you have a publicist through them too, hm? Diamond’s the assistant under…who? Lysa Thomas or Michael Rix?”

“Thomas,” Theodore answered shortly.

“I figured. Michael Rix isn’t know to make such a mess of PR stunts,” he said with a slight smile.

“And what do you know about it?” Washington demanded savagely while Theodore blinked owlishly at the publicist. It didn’t entirely surprise him to learn that this guy knew so much. Even at first glance, he appeared both diligent and professional. For the most part, Theodore’s team was much the same, but Lysa Thomas had reached her end with his rebellious nature and didn’t know how to handle his self-sabotage.

A scowl crossed the man’s face. He turned his head to peer out the window. “More than I care to admit,” he stated with a scowl, rapping two knuckles against the window. “You can let me out here.”

Theodore, despite his better judgment, felt his heart stutter in response. He peered out the window at the dog park Oscar rolled to a stop in front of, peering into the backseat as the publicist buttoned his jacket and slipped his mobile phone into his pocket, hand on the latch of the door. Unable to help himself, Theodore gripped the man’s arm as opened the door.

“You’re not–”

“I’m not a part of your team. It would be completely inappropriate to get out of this car with you.”

“But you’re so far away from the theater,” Theodore started to argue weakly.

It wasn’t true either. The Microsoft Theater was only a block away, maybe a ten minute walk along West Road. From the head tilt and raised eyebrows, the man, British though he was, knew that too. Theodore blushed and looked away, clearing his throat pointedly to distract from the feeling like he’d made a fool out of himself, that he was being pathetic begging a man whose name he didn’t even know for attention and affection.

“Will I see you? At the theater?”

“I’ll see _you_ ,” he said plainly, the ‘but you won’t see me’ unspoken but nonetheless understood. A new blush darkened Theodore’s cheek, and he reached up to tuck his hair behind his ear, fisting his hand in frustration when all his fingers encountered were tight braids. The publicist’s eyes trailed over him, though the look was speculative it didn’t manage to stifle the faint gleam of appreciation in his gaze. He slid out of the car, turning in the open doorway to peer inside at Theodore who scooted over to peer down at him. “Stay away from the cocaine. It’s not good for you.”

Theodore crooked an eyebrow. “That’s not what my manager told me.”

“I’m sure,” he said, scowling. His hand gripped Theodore’s face tightly, and instead of reeling back, Theodore leaned into the touch. “Behave yourself.”

Theodore smirked and shrugged one shoulder, leaning down until their faces were mere centimeters apart. The publicist startled, grip loosening on Theodore, and Theodore’s smile turned downright wicked. His eyes darted down to the man’s lips. He swallowed, and Theodore bit his bottom lip, grinning triumphantly. “If you insist.”

The publicist nodded shakily and stepped away from the car, staring thoughtfully at Theodore and nodding. “I…uh…yeah. Good luck then,” he said uneasily, shutting the door and running a trembling hand through his hair.

Theodore sat back grinning.

“Boy,” Washington started, “that was one move away from sexual harassment.”

“That’s okay.” Theodore said with a shrug and a smile. “He liked it.”

 


	3. "Sober Up (ft. Rivers Cuomo)" by AJR

**Maverick (@MaverickOfficial)**

Thank you to all my incredible fans for three #PeoplesChoiceAwards you’re amazing!

 

**Maverick for the win**

The People’s Choice Awards is always a good time, and why not when we get actors, YouTube stars, and singers all together in one place? Making the biggest mark this year was singer and actor, Maverick, who came away from the show with three People’s Choice Awards for Favorite Male Artist, Favorite Pop Artist, and Favorite Album for his third studio album, _Incandescent_. Never one to disappoint, the artist also performed his recently released hit single from upcoming album, ‘Promises, Promises’ showcasing his incredible talent for performing. Despite being one of the biggest and most beloved pop stars in the world, he also made time for some personal drama, sparking more than a few whispers when he shunned actress and ex-girlfriend, Evangeline Rice, to spend the after party flirting with model, Anamarija Kovač. Despite racy Instagram pics of the pair, Maverick took to Twitter to deny the rumors circulating about the two.

 

To: sterling.harry@dissidentmanagement.com

From: adelaide.johanna@dissidentmanagement.com

Subject: London Return

Harry,

I’ve attached all your flight information and documents to the email. Make sure you check-in ahead of time (you know this) and make sure those two dolts get on the plane with you. We won’t pay to bring them home if they miss their flight partying in LA.

Best,

Johanna Adelaide

Director of Crisis Management

Dissident Management PR

P.S. I hope you had an excellent, excellent time

 

**Text message to Adelaide**

**Harry:** You suck majorly.

 

**Irish Rose (@rosieposie)**

It would be nice if @Cherrie_TA stopped using all my shower gel

 

**Cherrie Taylor (@Cherrie_TA)**

@rosieposie excuse you, I used @HaroldBSterlings :P

 

**Irish Rose (@rosieposie)**

@HaroldBSterling I see how it is…

 

**Catriona Buchanan (@Kitty_Catriona)**

I get to shoot @MaverickOfficial in a week. I’ll just take this time to fangirl #omg #soexcited

 

**Maverick (@MaverickOfficial)**

@Kitty_Catriona I see you #lol

* * *

 

There were two of them now. These women. They’d keep multiplying if Harry and Rosie agreed to take in anymore of Breaking Fourth’s secret lovers like they were stray kittens instead of actual human beings. That wasn’t to say he didn’t understand why Dissident Management hadn’t wanted Cheryl Atterberry associated with their little cash cow, Micah Cross. Especially now as she lounged over the living room sofa watching Good Morning Britain with a plate of eggs balanced on her knee and a steaming mug of coffee in her hands, her clothing consisting of a Chantilly lace and satin slip dress. Her red hair fell over her shoulders in tangled waves, and she didn’t even look at him as he shuffled into the kitchen.

Knees upturned, her boyfriend, Micah Cross, sat on the floor, skimming through the programming with a bored expression. Cheryl made a sound of frustration every time he moved to change the channel, and he sighed stealing a slice of bread from her plate. Neither of them looked particularly awake, and Micah hadn’t even made a move to dress himself in decent clothing, lounging around the house in pajama pants, bare-chested.

Harry sighed and turned into the kitchen, startling when he found Rosie.

Unlike Cheryl and Micah, she was half-dressed for the day in a pair of yoga pants and Ugg boots, her top half covered only by a fleece Victoria’s Secret bathrobe. Her vibrant red hair was piled in a knot on top of her head, and her face was made up save for her lipstick, which she’d forgone to better enjoy her cup of coffee. She cradled the Arizona postcard mug in her hands and waved her fingers at him with amusement.

“Morning, Potter.”

“Is there more?”

“There’s always more coffee,” she recited plainly, inclining her head towards the half-full pot on the counter.

Harry nodded and snagged another mug from the cabinet, pouring himself a bitter cup of black coffee. He took a sip and sighed delightedly, aware of her eyes remaining on him as she drank her own.

“You’re up early.”

“Have to be in early,” Harry remarked shortly. “Something to do with Diana Hawthorne.”

“That fledgling singer? The one they think is going to be the next Miley Cyrus? What she’d do? Rob a bank? Have sex with a married man? Drive her car into a tree?” Rosie demanded with amusement.

Harry shrugged and reached into the cabinet to draw out a travel mug. He popped off the top and dumped the bitter ambrosia into the cup. Setting the empty mug into the sink, he forced the mug shut and glanced over at Rosie, still watching him amusedly from over the rim of her mug.

Of the pair of them, Rosie was the one least likely to be awake before noon. She’d been songwriting with Soren Reid for his upcoming album, and he almost never worked earlier than midday. It surprised him a great deal to see her awake and alert before nine am. Cheryl less so. She didn’t have to be in studio with Irial for their radio show until two, but when Micah stayed the night, they almost always got up early to either bike ride or go the local gym for kickboxing classes that Cheryl really didn’t need considering her history of getting into fights.

“You know,” Micah added, “Ashton wanted Cris to stunt with that girl. Diana Hawthorne.”

“For his benefit or hers?” Harry inquired curiously.

“For hers, actually, I think,” Micah replied with a quizzical frown on his face. He shrugged his shoulders. “Obviously it didn’t happen probably because he bartered his soul away. That’s his usual MO.”

Harry agreed but he also wondered. If they’d tried to tie her to Cris to boost her reputation, then it stood to reason that they wouldn’t have because they found someone else to attach her too, somebody better. Cris’s stunting partners always came with the inevitable stain of either his dating history or his alleged gayness neither of which guaranteed a friendly reception for such a young but talented singer. Besides, PR stunts to boost visibility were a time-honored tradition. Eventually, they’d pair her off with somebody. Hopefully with someone who she couldn’t walk all over like Cris.

Rosie narrowed her eyes on Harry.

He side-eyed her carefully, cleared his throat, and stalked towards his room to finish preparing for the day. He couldn’t even bring himself to be surprised when she followed him down the hallway.

Rosie’s bedroom was the biggest at the end of the hallway mostly to accommodate her tendency to create gigantic messes and piles of clean and dirty clothes. Harry, upon moving in had chosen the room closest to the front door leaving Cheryl the smallest room between the two when she’d eventually come to them pouting and claiming Irial had told her they had an extra room and place for her to stay. Harry had almost killed Irial, and if these two girls couldn’t stop their bathroom squabbles he just might have to anyway.

As he stepped into his room in all its sparse impersonal appearance with only a queen-sized bed, two side tables, a desk, and the bookshelves encircling the upper perimeter of the room, Rosie entered behind him. She closed the door and made herself comfortable, sitting cross-legged on his geometric gray duvet.

Ignoring her presence, Harry tugged on a pair of black boots that muted the incredibly loud red tartan pattern on his fitted pants. She kept watching, silently judging, as he pulled a cashmere sweater over his white button-up and dug into the depths of his closet until he found the Alexander McQueen blazer his gran had purchased for his graduation. Irial had nothing but scathing commentary about his hipster fashion, but Harry had grown out of hardcore hipster attire around the same time he’d gotten a decent paycheck from Dissident. These days he skated the line between hipster and chic, but Rosie was one of the only people who knew that he supplemented his wardrobe with better pieces than t-shirt and sweater vests.

“So…” Rosie inquired finally, “who’s the guy?”

“Am I supposed to know what you’re talking about?” Harry hedged carefully, snagging his parka from the back of the door.

“Are you going to pretend like you don’t? You’ve been a total pill since you got back from LA. That was weeks ago. I let it go, but you kept on keeping on. You turned down two girls and three guys when we went clubbing with Iri over the weekend. Start talking because I know you. And _this_ , this isn’t like you.”

“I have to get to work.”

“Harold Benton-Sterling, you stop right there,” Rosie ordered imperiously when he’d reached his bedroom door, one hand on the knob.

On instinct, he froze, licking his bottom lip and biting it with irritation. He rolled his head back, nostrils flaring, and sighed. Though he tensed, he didn’t turn, waiting for her to continue. Like he didn’t know exactly where this was going. Like he hadn’t expected this very thing to occur. She’d let it go on a lot longer than he’d expected; he’d flown back five weeks ago, and Rosie had only brought up that something was bothering him in passing expecting him to come out with it the way he always had.

But how could he admit that he’d been somewhat charmed by America’s favorite playboy pop prince despite the fact that he was clearly into drugs. Harry didn’t have that kind of ability in him. It was one thing to acknowledge that to himself, but he didn’t know if he could bring himself to admit to that sort of weakness to Rosie despite knowing she wouldn’t judge him for it…at least, not much.

“It could be a girl,” Harry heard himself whine.

Rosie scoffed, and he turned to find her sprawling comfortably across his bed, mug resting on the side table adjacent to the picture of the he, Rosie, and Irial their last Halloween in university. The same Halloween that Irial spent getting shitfaced and running off to McDonald’s so that he could grope Cris when they were both still being incredibly stupid about their feelings for each other. Somehow, it seemed like ages ago instead of just over a year.

“Do I look like Irial?” Rosie demanded. “If it didn’t work with _me_ , then it won’t work with any girl. How many times are you going date a girl, get drunk, and whine to me that you feel emotionally unfulfilled before you come to the realization that sex and love are two totally different things and you’re not capable of the latter with a dick.”

Harry grimaced. He knew that, he just didn’t like to talk about it. His father cared very little about his sexual proclivities provided he come to visit the man a couple times a week and drive down to Cricklewood to visit his grandfather and Grandma Felicity at their house in Willesden Green. His mother’s family, on the other hand, had never once said a word about his tendency to date and sleep with men to the point of awkward non-acknowledgement. His mother was careful never to ask about his love life and tended to overemphasize his relationship with Rosie. She and her husband, Roger, had never needed to say that they didn’t care for his sexuality; it had been implied since he’d introduced them to his first boyfriend at the beginning of sixth form.

“It could be a…am I allowed to say transgendered female?”

“Oh my God,” Rosie declared, sitting up and folding her legs under her. He stifled a curse, knowing full and well he’d given himself away by too much deflection. Slowly, he turned to her, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against the door. “He’s famous isn’t he? You met someone when you were at the PCAs. Closeted? Definitely. But who? You’re like the most omnivorous sexual partner I’ve ever met, I can’t even begin to guess. Not older than you, though. That significantly lowers the number of people. You never date people older than you.”

“Are you done?”

“How famous is he? Do the boys know him?”

Harry clammed up, snagging his wallet off the bookshelf along with his keys. He waved a hand over his shoulder dismissively. “I have to go to work now.”

“Harry! Harold!” Rosie called out behind him. He hesitated in the hallway, hearing her thunderous footsteps in his room and debated how much he wanted his coffee. Really, if morning were going to be like this he should just started dragging it around the house with him. “Harry BS! Potter child! Don’t you run out on me like this. I will make you talk if I have to tie you to one of those stretchy torture things like they did in the medieval times!”

“It’s called the rack!” Harry yelled back pointedly, deciding against retrieving his cup of coffee to stalk towards the front door. He yanked it open and raced down the stairs, still hearing Rosie shouting behind him. He hesitated just outside the door and startled when his eyes landed on his next door neighbor, a diminutive mixed race Frenchman waiting for his boyfriend. Bemused, Sebastian waved to him, and Harry cleared his throat, embarrassed and nodding back, tensing when he heard Rosie’s voice approaching the door.

“Better run, _mon ami_ ,” Sebastian added playfully.

Harry nodded in agreement and sprinted down the stairs. It was a ten-minute walk to the St. James Park Underground station from their flat that felt like thirty in the frigid February temperatures. London, for all its virtues, was perpetually gray and perpetually cold. The gray, Rosie complained about incessantly having spent her formative years in warm and sunny Arizona, but Harry didn’t mind as he’d grown up in such weather. The cold even now took some getting used to. It wasn’t the sort of absent chilly temperature that one could become accustomed to, but a sort of bone-deep arctic chill that settled in the blood like a virus.

The train ride from Westminster to the Dissident Management offices near Covent Garden was barely half an hour. If the weather wasn’t abominable the walk might even be nice, but it wasn’t so Harry would rather pay to use the underground than reach his office as a man-shaped popsicle. He forced himself to stop at the Starbucks nearby the station entrance for his fix of bitter coffee ignoring his mobile’s incessant ringing. After all, it was very likely only Rosie anyway. Johanna knew better than to call him; he rarely answered missed phone calls, preferring to deal with clients and coworkers alike through text messages.

By the time he got off the train at Leicester Square to walk down the road, his phone had stopped ringing. Instead, he was plagued by numerous text messages demanding he stop ignoring her and answer her phone calls.

Harry ignored those too.

The Dissident Management receptionist, Nissa, waved at him from her booth.

Harry nodded back and carded into the building, heading straight for the elevators and tapping in the floor where the PR offices were located. Alvin, a timid PR intern, scooted inside just before the doors closed, quivering when he caught sight of Harry and squishing in tightly between Alana Marriot and Jaime Quece, the publicist and manager for Dissident’s girlband, Scarlet Letters. Rolling his eyes, Harry exited on his floor and didn’t last five minutes before being accosted by Johanna’s assistant.

“Harry! There you are!”

He tugged up his sleeve to glare at his watch. “Here I am. Right on time, Jackie.”

“Right,” Jackie stuttered, dropping back to avoid his ire. People acted like he tended to freak out and fly completely off the handle. Granted, Harry lived by a strictly no-bullshit policy that didn’t allow him to put up with lies, excuses, entitlement, or ‘executive decisions’ he didn’t agree with, but people didn’t need to act like he was in the habit of beating the interns and assistants within an inch of their life. “Johanna wants to see you in her office.”

“ _Not_ her office,” the woman herself said, sweeping out of staffroom. “We’re on the move. Let’s go.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Jackie agreed, grabbing file folders and a laptop off of her desk to trail after Johanna.

Like Harry, Johanna didn’t exactly scream ‘intimidation.’ At barely 5’3”, her presence made her seem distinctly taller, that and her stiletto heels. Her skin was a smooth mocha dotted by an explosion of freckles across her face, dark curls dyed a lighter shade of brown and hidden away beneath an expensive weave that she sometimes exchanged for gorgeous box braids. Her clothing seemed to come only in several different colors of crepe mini dresses paired with stylish blazers and the occasional cardigan. Her main splurge being her designer shoe collection.

Harry would never quite call Johanna beautiful. Her lips were too wide, nose too narrow, eyes too far apart, but her face was interesting enough that beauty ceased to matter. Johanna Adelaide was striking and in possession of an explosive personality that left little room for argument. It was part of the reason Harry thought she liked him. Harry was neither scared of her nor moved by her demands. She made an excellent mentor, but that didn’t mean he would bow to her every whim the way most of the interns did.

“Are we?”

“We are,” Johanna confirmed, waving aside two people from marketing to steal the elevator car without the slightest hint of apology. Amused, Harry leaned against the railing around the elevator.

“Is this about Diana Hawthorne?”

“These days, it’s about Diana Hawthorne, Scarlet Letters, or Breaking Fourth. But yes it absolutely is. We were called in for a consult to make sure that absolutely everything goes according to plan,” Johanna stated.

“Yeah, there’s a meeting scheduled. What happened to turn this into an emergency?” Harry inquired absently.

“Nothing. It’s not an emergency,” Johanna shrugged dismissively. “The other party got came in early. His shoot at Canary Wharf was moved up due to inclement weather reports so they moved up our meeting. No biggie except that they didn’t tell me until ten minutes ago.”

“Other party?” Harry mused in understanding. “So this is about boosting her image before the album’s released?”

“It is indeed. Especially now that Soren Reid’s agreed to produce it,” Johanna added.

Harry whistled and nodded, “That would do it.”

“I’m sorry,” a third voice squeaked, masculine and nervous. Jackie side-eyed the intern mashed into the corner with sympathy while Harry turned to him, eyebrows raised.

“I didn’t even see you there, Jordan.”

The intern blushed and bowed his head. “I…I just, why would she need to stunt with someone if she’s being produced by Soren Reid. I mean, musically that says a lot about her potential, doesn’t it?”

“Potential doesn’t sell records,” Johanna stated, “popularity does.”

“Bea Miller. Astrid S. Melanie Martinez,” Harry listed off. “The only thing that differentiates them from Demi Lovato, Halsey, and Katy Perry is popularity. They’re good singers, but that’s not enough. Even Tori Kelly’s not as big as say Selena Gomez despite being produced by Ed Sheeran because she didn’t have a solid foundation to stand on. It’s easier to stand on a pedestal and put out an album than put one out and pray that popularity follows. Better to get her name out there now and be visible. Not all publicity is good publicity, but even if this guy’s fans hate her, a bunch of people still know who she is.”

Johanna nodded, “Plus men are transient. A producer is eternal.”

Jordan’s eyebrows knit together in confusion, and Harry rolled his eyes, carefully hiding his smile as the elevator doors slid open.

“Just keep your mouth shut and do what she says,” Harry ordered as they approached the conference room. Jordan offered a jerky nod and scurried forward to open the door. Harry waved at Jackie to go in ahead of him, coming up short when his eyes fell on the man sitting across the table, rocking on the chair between his manager and personal assistant.

The rocking stopped abruptly, and Theodore Maverick’s eyes darted up to meet his simmering with heat that hadn’t died in the slightest since Los Angeles. Fuck.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I mention Melanie Martinez, just to keep the air clear she was accused of sexually assaulting her best friend, Timothy Peller. However, that is still disputed and I feel until there is thorough examination I have no intention of writing her off. Personally, I feel every allegation of sexual assault should be treated seriously, I also do not automatically believe all these allegations just because women say they were afraid people wouldn't believe them. Asking "what reason would women have to lie about things like this?" I will sit here and be like let me count the reasons women would lie about someone famous sexually assaulting them. It's not a huge deal and this never gets addressed again, but I feel like I should be open about things like this to engage in this ongoing discussion.


	4. "Obsessed" by Maggie Lindemann

**Irish Rose (@rosieposie)**

@HaroldBSterling is STILL ignoring me. #illcutabitch

 

**Cherrie Taylor (@Cherrie_TA)**

@HaroldBSterling @rosieposie world war III about to erupt in this bitch. #getittogether #damn

 

**Message from Irial**

**Irial:** What did you do to piss of Rosie?

**Irial:** Why won’t she tell me?

**Irial:** Why won’t you answer me?

**Irial:** Why won’t you answer her?

**Irial:** Do you have secrets from ME?

**Irial:** Pottttttttttter!!!!!!!

 

**Chelseaaa Myrset (@chel-by-the-sea)**

I met @MaverickOfficial at Coffee Island this morning #fangirling #worksogood

 

**Hannah G (@hannah_banana10)**

@chel-by-the-sea no way no way no way I’m so excited he’s existing in the UK!!!!

 

**Jaime Lauvier (@jaimereallove)**

@hannah_banana10 you he’s shooting for NME with @Kitty_Catriona today

 

**Hannah G (@hannah_banana10)**

@jaimereallove I don’t want to sound like a total psycho stalker fangirl but omg wheresssssss!!!

 

**Rachel Tanif (@rachelfavs)**

@hannah_banana10 I heard Victoria Embankment

 

**Elizabeth Offen (@off_with_her_head)**

@rachelfacs @hannah_banana10 rly? I heard canary wharf.

 

**Nikita (@nikialuvsmav)**

@hannah_banana10 what is the truth? #lol #butiwantoknow

 

**Kimberly Lakshmi (@KimberlyLakshmi)**

@MaverickOfficial I heard you were in the neighborhood…#london

 

**Maverick (@MaverickOfficial)**

I mean I’ll be around boo…@KimberlyLakshmi

 

**Group MMS**

**Irial:** Did you know that Maverick was in town?

**Cris:** Sort of? I heard he was going into Dissident

**Irial:** Is he?

**Rosie:** Let’s focus on the important parts. Like me fangirling. OMG I LOVE HIM!!!

* * *

Logically, Harry knew it hadn’t been a fluke. That brief moment of sympathy that had so quickly morphed into attraction that threatened to consume him. Logically, he also knew that most people probably felt that way when it came to dealing with Maverick, and yet, even now Harry couldn’t help himself. Through his haze of drinking in the sight of one of the most famous popstars in the known world, he barely noticed both the head of PR and the head of marketing, both Diana’s manager and Maverick’s, the trio of personal assistants in the room taking notes, and Johanna skirting the table with their intern and her own assistant to take a seat.

When his eyes fell on Maverick, they stuck there, magnetized by his presence that Harry wanted to blame on his general charisma but wasn’t certain he could.

As far as Harry knew, Maverick’s ethnic makeup was something hotly contested in the public sphere. African-Americans swore he was black. Everyone else swore he was at least partially white. Maverick’s only comment to the debate was that he had no comment and the he didn’t know either way; it was no secret either that he’d been adopted. But his mixed race origins at least weren’t in question. His skin was fair either to lean either way, a deep caramel that seemed to lighten and darken based on whatever country he was in. Ombre curls faded from a darker brown to a dirty blonde half-hidden beneath a beanie. The shocking part was the piercing teal eyes, which landed on Harry and locked on.

If he expected a response, he got none, which impressed him further. Maverick’s face remained straight and entirely unimpressed where he lounged looking dreadfully bored between his manager, Preston, in his pressed suit and slicked back blonde hair, and the Native American woman Harry assumed was Rory Tannen, Maverick’s assistant. Maverick himself dressed like he constantly fought a battle with his stylist in ripped dark wash jeans, a simple army green Henley, and a Peacock feather patterned bomber jacket. The longer Harry stared, dumbfounded and parched, the more Maverick’s lips began to curl up in a bemused smile.

Someone cleared their throat, and Harry jumped.

His eyes landed first on Johanna’s completely mystified face before turning to look at the paunchy figure sitting at the head of the table. The head of publicity, Christopher Herring, pursed his lips and gestured broadly for Harry to take his seat.

He nodded jerkily and walked uncomfortably to the slip into the seat beside Johanna. Her head turned, eyebrow quirked, to look at him with concern. Harry ran his fingers through his hair, shaking his head and stomach turning anxiously when he felt eyes on him. It took all his effort not to look, tugging his mobile out of his pocket to flip it on the table and ignoring the disbelieving look Johanna leveled at him.

“I’d like to introduce our latecomers, this is Johanna Adelaide, head of crisis management, and Harry Benton-Sterling her protégé.”

Diana Hawthorne’s manager raised his eyebrows but didn’t comment on their presence. Unlike Maverick’s manager, Preston Duke simply couldn’t help himself, clearing his throat primly and asking, “Do you foresee this being a crisis?”

“I see this as being essential.”

“To who?” Maverick demanded quietly, lips curling up in a grin. “I don’t see how this has any benefit to me.”

“I don’t see why crisis management needs to be involved,” Preston bitched.

Harry rolled his eyes, and Maverick gritted his teeth and turned to his manager.

“Don’t be an asshole. It’s a precaution. You know this. I know this. Enough.”

His tone was steely and the comment publicly muzzled his rabid manager. From the ire in Preston’s eyes, Harry was surprised he didn’t outright smack Maverick for impertinence like he was a child right there at the table. As it was, Maverick only raised his eyebrows, a genial smile on his face, while his personal assistant tensed and shot Preston the most venomous look Harry had ever seen on a PA’s face. His eyes moved between the three of them. No love lost there, that was for sure.

“Obviously that’s part of why we’re here,” the marketing director, Holly Ryan, stated soothingly. Only Harry didn’t think this one would work on Maverick. This meeting was obviously important enough to get both he and Johanna, both directors instead of their VPs; Maverick had the upper hand and from the curl of his lips and disinterest on his face, he knew it. “We’d like to reach an agreement that’s as mutually beneficial as possible.”

“What ‘mutual benefit’ can come out of me publicly faking a relationship with some British newbie no one in America’s ever heard of? Or is that the point? Trying to reach America if we’re trying for that this soon either you think her music will be better received over there or that she has cross-market potential that you want to build on the back of a man. I.e. me. Which is it?”

Harry’s mouth went dry as he stared at Maverick.

For an alleged playboy and obvious drug-user, Maverick had a brain. It moved quick and left no stone unturned, and Harry had never been able to deny how attracted he was to people who were smart. Being a musical genius and talented actor was one thing, but this waded into waters that Harry really wished he’d never encountered.

“How about professional courtesy from a veteran to a novice?” Diana spat at him furiously. “Everybody needs that one chance.”

Maverick crooked an eyebrow and leaned forward, arms resting on the table. “I know, but I carved mine out of stone all by myself. You’re not going to get me to bow to you on that alone. If you wanted pity, you should have called Soren. Or Cris Emerson. Who would have been your first choice, but I’m difficult to work with and he leveraged Alina Rosen against you.”

Johanna’s eyebrows rose higher, impressed by his knowledge.

Harry wasn’t as surprised. He’d never admit to making the rounds through social media after he’d left LA, but his web search had turned up more than a few articles about Maverick and Alina Rosen who’d he’d apparently known since before the latter made a name for herself and of whom he’d jokingly kissed on a red carpet before both of them assured the paparazzi that they were just friends. That actually seemed to be the truth; Harry had an easy time reading through the Hollywood bullshit and over-exaggeration about relationships.

“I think you’re being so incredibly selfish,” Diana intoned coolly.

At this, Harry’s eyebrows rose, eyes flitting towards her and urging her to shut up.

“Diana, stop,” her manager warned swiftly with an uneasy smile at Maverick.

His expression dropped growing cold, eyes narrowing on her and smile growing dangerously pleasant. “You think so? How long have you been doing this? A few months that you mostly sent holing up in a studio and going through rounds of professional photoshoots? Fuck off. I know how this works. First it’s ‘let’s do this a couple months to get her name out there,’ then it’s ‘she’ll look pathetic if you dump her before the album drops,’ then it’s ‘people think this is for PR let’s keep it going a little longer.’ And guess what little girl? I’m not about to give you a year of my life to make you a star and give you leave to trash my name when we ‘break up.’ I’m not a doormat.”

“No but you sure think highly of yourself,” Diana purred acidly.

Harry’s eyebrows rose higher, crossing his legs and examining the pair of them. This could work, this clear emotion between the two of them, vitriolic as it was. The public was no stranger to turbulent public relationships between celebrities, and people still loved Selena and Justin no matter their history of publicly fucking each other up.

“Says the child who thinks she’s worth dating me even in PR form. Who even are you?”

“Mav,” his assistant tried to cut in.

“How long were you thinking?” Preston Duke asked over Maverick’s voiciferous and rather pointed objections.

“Three months enough time to cement their name, gives us time to release Diana’s second single and music video, and allows this to seem less like a fling and more like a valiant try for a relationship. Would that work?”

Preston looked over at Maverick whose eyes rolled up towards the ceiling from annoyance and frustration with the entire situation. “It should. Maverick will be in town. He’s here shooting a movie with Penney Dear for the next three months so it shouldn’t be a problem in terms of physical presence.”

“You gonna forge my signature on this paperwork too, Preston?” Maverick demanded, finally losing his temper. Harry nodded, unsurprised by his quick rebuttal. “Did you not hear me? I want not part in this. I have no desire to sacrifice three months of my life for this farce only to extend it another three so that we can all pretend that I hold her hand through the album release and so that Dissident can use my social media to drive up her sales come August. I mean fuck off seriously.”

Diana smirked triumphantly. “I thought you didn’t know who I was.”

Maverick’s eyes flashed over to her with irritation. “I think you have a decent voice but that you try too hard when you sing to hit high notes out of your range when you should work with what you have.” Her triumphant look dropped abruptly. Johanna’s eyes went wide, eyes roving between the pair with barely concealed worry. “I think you’re lucky Soren’s producing you because you rely too much on the mixing board to diversify your sound. And I think your song lyrics could use another round of editing. I know exactly who you are.”

Everything about Diana pointed to an imminent breakdown. She wanted to rage at Maverick but there were obviously too many people in the room. At eighteen, Diana had spent her life in and out of the British school system and had even been a turn out of the famed Brit School for performing arts. She had probably spent her whole life being encouraged and supported, and Maverick obviously didn’t have the time or the energy to coddle her.

These two would be rough.

“Is there no one else?” Diana finally asked through clenched teeth.

“Diana–” her manager tried to plead with her.

Preston shot Maverick a desperate and simultaneously furious look that Maverick ignored entirely. Rory Tannen sunk into her seat to avoid being seen. And, across the table, Holly Ryan and Christopher Herring glared at Harry and Johanna pointedly, begging them to intervene before this became ugly.

No wonder they’d been invited to this meeting with these sorts of personalities abounding.

“No,” Harry said shortly, curtailing the burgeoning arguments. “There’s not. Breaking Fourth’s about to go on tour even if Cris Emerson had another agreement, tour’s not a conducive place to conduct these types of PR stunts. You need to be visible not the girlfriend left behind while your boyfriend parties with his alleged ex-girlfriend on tour. You need to be noticed not pitied. Soren’s producing your album so we can’t go that route. Dating your producer so early in the game is not a good look, and Soren’s been dating Poppy Beck on and off anyway. People love her; Britain would eat you alive. If we’re trying to tap into America, Maverick’s your best bet. In any case, he’s currently one of the biggest young celebrities in Britain right now that isn’t female, which I’m going to go ahead and assume no one at this table would be cool with even if _you_ were.”

None of the executives even flinch.

Maverick rolled his head to lock his eyes on Harry. He stiffened beneath the look, and Maverick offered him a lazy smile. Johanna’s eyes moved between them curiously, which he only knew due to Maverick’s pointed glance in her direction. Clearing his throat, Harry nodded and straightened his back, forcing his eyes away from Maverick.

“Why _him_?” Diana whined.

“I’m sure you don’t even need me to answer that,” Harry stated coolly, nodding when she sighed exasperatedly. Only then, did he turn to Maverick. “There’s no need to pretend this is mutually beneficial…” he trailed off, eyes darting to Preston Duke subtly and drawing an answering nod out of Maverick. Harry didn’t pursue the question having already gotten the confirmation he sought, and Dissident didn’t need to know that. “It’s not. You get some free UK press, but your UK fans have already converged and gone rabid, it’s not like you need it. Your concerns about this extending are completely valid and should be addressed.”

“This needs to last for three months,” Holly Ryan interrupted pointedly. “We’ve done some market research–”

Johanna rolled her eyes and glanced over at Harry. “A short time frame could work.”

“If we do this loud enough,” Harry agreed, “and feed off how much they dislike each other.”

“And how would that help?” The marketing director scoffed.

Harry shrugged, “Polarizing society is a good way to get attention. Suddenly everyone has a side, everyone has an opinion. As long as no enterprising reporter tries to say their acrimonious relationship got physical then Maverick can recover from having a love-hate relationship with some fledgling singer in the UK while he was filming, and Diana comes out of this a household name. People love conflict even if they lie and say they don’t.”

“I don’t feel comfortable–” Herring started uncertainly.

“We need to agree on this now,” Harry said without preamble, not willing to deal with Dissident’s wishy-washy approach to crafting narratives. Especially not with these two, though he refused to delve into why he felt so passionate about ensuring this went the way it was supposed to. “Breaking Fourth’s a mess because you’re always switching up PR directives in the middle of the stunt. The public wants to believe narratives, but they’re not stupid. And Maverick isn’t yours to fuck up.”

Herring flushed while Holly Ryan pressed her lips together in a tight line.

Harry nodded his head and laced his hands together on top of the table. His eyes glanced over at Johanna who held her hands up and sat back in her seat, arms crossed over her chest, content to allow him to take the lead on this one.

“Since changing up the timeline’s a genuine cause for concern, I think we should play this month by month.” When Herring started to argue, Harry held up a hand and shook his head. “Month-to-month commitment so that we don’t all get crazy and drag everyone into a media circus, we’ll shoot for three months, but this way Maverick has an out.”

Maverick looked thoughtful, staring up at the ceiling and nodding slightly.

Diana’s ire faded somewhat as she considered Harry’s suggestion.

“What would this look like?” Preston inquired.

“Two outings a week the first month.” Maverick and Diana both appeared horrified, and Harry shook his head. “Not actual outings, relax children, you two can’t be a room together that long without killing each other. Just some pap shots of you two trying not to be seen so that we can pretend this is all happening underwraps. If that first month goes smoothly, then staggered an outing a week until its over and depending on the direction we decide to take this, possibly very loud and messy arguments or Twitter spats. Never a confirmation that they’re together because lying to the public is never a good thing.”

Considering, Diana nodded her head and looked over at Harry without sparing a glance for Maverick. “When would this start?”

Harry cocked his head and glanced over at Maverick. “You came in for the Brit Awards?”

Maverick pursed his lips and nodded his head.

“They’re both up for Brits, aren’t they?”

Some rumbling general consensus around the table made Harry distinctly uncomfortable. Didn’t these people talk to each other? They wanted their artists to stunt together but didn’t know the first thing about the other. This is when major PR screw ups happened.

“Then nothing until after the Brits. It’s more plausible to say they met at the show than they happened upon each other at a coffeeshop or a bar or a club. Let’s not stretch the public to their absolute limits, okay? That gives us all plenty of time to debate my idea before ultimately getting on board and allows me time to prepare for contingencies with Breaking Fourth’s tour.”

Herring’s eyebrows rose, “You think there’s going to be drama with Breaking Fourth?”

“I don’t want to lie so I’ll just say between the way Cris’s contract was handled, Alina Rosen’s presence, and Irial’s general attitude, that yes I can guarantee tour drama is going to happen. Sooner rather than later, so I should plan for that.”

“I have a requirement,” Maverick inserted. When every pair of eyes in the room had swiveled to him, Maverick beamed and looked Harry dead in the eye. He stiffened and cleared his throat uncomfortably, only seeming to amuse Maverick further. “I want you to oversee our PR. No offense, but I don’t really trust anyone else here to manage without turning this into a shitshow.”

Diana nodded, “I can agree with that.”

“Great,” Herring clapped his hands together, rising to his feet. “It’s settled then.”

Harry startled, raising his eyebrows. “Is it?”

“No reason to drag this out unnecessarily longer than it has to be, right? We’ll schedule another meeting to go over the details, and I’ll, or rather _Harry_ , will get the contracts drawn up and sent over for review.”

The two managers nodded and stood up to shake hands with Christopher and Holly while Harry sat in his seat, dumfounded, eyes narrowed on the wall across the room from him. How had his life gotten so messy so fast? His gaze slid over to Maverick who’d risen to his feet to pull on a classic black Tom Ford overcoat on top of his Alexander McQueen bomber jacket. He smiled at whatever his assistant said to him, and Harry’s heart sank into his stomach.

Right, that’s why.

Johanna could have handled this meeting, could have handled the publicity that would inevitably come from this meeting. Instead, Harry had opened his mouth to keep this from becoming a shitshow of Breaking Fourth proportions. The last thing that Maverick needed was unnecessary drama that came along with a pretty cut-and-dry PR stunt.

Maverick eyes fell on him as his assistant shuffled him out the door, and Harry thought he didn’t need the unnecessary drama that came with someone like Maverick.


	5. "Run Up" by Major Lazer ft. Nicki Minaj

**Interview Transcript Derek Havershim**

**Derek:** Steampunk? I mean we’ve seen you in quite a few very unique films: period pieces, horror films, every your brief stint as a werewolf…

**Maverick:** Actually I was a vampire. Thank you very much.

**Derek:** Apologies, apologies. But steampunk that’s a genre we haven’t seen from you before. Be honest, was the drama Penney Dear? It’s fine if it was. We all adore Penney Dear.

**Maverick:** You’ve got me. No, no, I mean I know her. We worked together before, and she called me and said “two words: space pirate” and I was absolutely sold. I’m an animated movie fanatic and most people probably know my love for Treasure Planet. I was in the moment she pitched space pirates to me. It was over.

**Derek:** So you’ll be in London for the next few months filming _Shipwreck Compass_. Are you going to be looking for love while you’re here?

**Maverick:** Looking for love? I don’t really know how I feel about that. I’m firmly on team ‘love should find you.’

**Derek:** That’s a very romantic sentiment.

**Maverick:** And I’m sexy enough that I don’t need to search out a sexual partner.

**Derek:** And you’re back.

 

**Emma Cross (@EmmaCross)**

Today’s the day. Shooting promo pics of @MaverickOfficial @penney_dear for #ShipwreckCompass

 

**Penelope Dearly (@penney_dear)**

@MaverickOfficial it’s been sooooo long

 

**Maverick (@MaverickOfficial)**

@penney_dear not long enough :P

 

To: adelaide.johanna@dissidentmanagement.com

Cc: herring.christopher@dissidentmanagement.com; ryan.holly@dissidentmanagement.com

From: sterling.harry@dissidentmanagement.com

Subject: RE: PR Outline Maverick and Diana

Johanna,

I already submitted it with the annotations from the previous meeting. I know it’s not your fault but I don’t understand why I’m being asked to resubmit something I already sent through. If there’s any concerns or changes management would like to request please do so with words rather than asinine commentary for resubmission. I’m not interested.

Harry Benton-Sterling

Crisis Management PR

Dissident Management

 

**Alyce & Jameson (@AlyceAndJameson)**

@MaverickOfficial at the BRIT awards looking fly.

 

**@TM_1996 is not following @HaroldBSterling**

* * *

“Tell me the truth,” Alina whispered in his ear, arm curled around his neck. “What’s with the face?”

Theodore rested his cheek on his palm and glared at the back of the PR agent with a childish pout on his lips. There he went again, feeling pathetic. But at least, for once, he didn’t feel used. It was a step up from his usual reactions to dealing with publicists, which existed somewhere between feeling used like a piece of toilet paper and being fucked by someone who didn’t want him at all. Harry did his job vacillating between trying to keep things simple and refusing to overstep professional bounds, which Theodore found both refreshing and reassuring even if he still held a modicum of protest for the practice of stunting.

“He’s ignoring me,” Theodore couldn’t help but comment, tossing back another glass of champagne with a scowl. He would have preferred a beer.

“This is about a guy?” Alina said sounding amused. “ _You’re_ pouting about a guy?”

Theodore raised his eyebrows and looked over at her. “Aren’t you?”

Alina tossed her hair over her shoulder batting her eyelashes and refusing to answer his question. Despite her intention to ignore the question, Alina’s eyes couldn’t help but fall on Shahnaz where he stood with his arm wrapped around the waist of Daisy Culpepper, his PR girlfriend. She was pretty, rail thin, and with dirty blonde hair and a sculpted face, but she had nothing on Alina in terms of looks and even less when it came to personality. Nonetheless, her amicable relationship with Shahnaz brought Alina to depths of insecurity that Theodore hadn’t seen since they’d first met freshmen year of high school.

“I’m not.”

“Okay,” Theodore agreed with her lightly, prompting a glare from her.

“You are,” Rory added helpfully as she appeared, passing Theodore a glass of coke with a stern glance towards his emptied champagne flute. While he wanted to protest being treated like a child, this time, he really couldn’t. His alcoholism had nothing to do with his cocaine usage, but he knew better than to pretend they were completely unconnected. “Shah told me to tell you to act like you’re having a good time.”

“But I’m not,” Alina dismissed with a bitter smile and a shrug of her shoulder. She pressed her palms against the counter of the bar and leaned over until she caught the bartender’s attention. “Hi, do you have like…Scotch? Or whiskey? Or moonshine.”

Laughing, the bartender nodded and reached beneath the bar to grab a bottle of Jack Daniel’s, pouring some into a glass.

“A little more,” Alina coached, earning her yet another bemused look from the bartender and an irritated glance from Shahnaz all the way across the room. Daisy’s eyes flickered over towards them and away quickly when she caught Theodore’s pointedly raised eyebrow. For the most part, Daisy knew her place, but Shahnaz’s friendship with her complicated things and allowed her opinions that Theodore thought weren’t hers to have. Alina’s drinking and insecurities weren’t Daisy’s to deal with since they were at least partially Daisy’s fault. “Thank you, love, God knows I need this.”

She tossed back the amber liquid and smirked when she found both Rory and Theodore gaping at her.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he was fucking her.”

“But you do know better,” Rory hedged uncomfortably, chancing a look to Theodore who shrugged, “don’t you?”

Alina grimaced.

And there was the insecurity, back again full force. It wasn’t even right to say that Alina had never seen a lasting relationship and that’s why she just couldn’t bring herself to be happy. It simply wasn’t true. From what Alina knew about her birth parents, they’d died as rebels in Iran, and her adoptive mother, a reporter from the US, had fallen in love with her while reporting on casualties and brought her home to the States. Even her adoptive parents were sickeningly romantic. Her insecurities had always seemed a personal failing, but Theodore wasn’t so certain at the moment.

Shahnaz might have been in love with her, but everyone had the potential to slip up now and then.

“What did he do?”

“He says nothing,” Alina reported with a grimace.

“And you think?” Rory inquired inquisitively, eyebrows raised and sucking from the bendy straw sticking out of her fruit punch.

Alina shook her head and pursed her lips. “I don’t know what to think. He swears he didn’t do anything. Daisy swears he just fell asleep at her house after everything. And whatever, right? It’s no big deal, and I shouldn’t freak out about it. Except that this is so hard, and it’s only going to get harder. He likes her. Might be attracted her. And it’d be easier having a real relationship than hiding the one he actually has, right?”

If she was looking to Theodore for reassurance that that wasn’t the case, Alina knew she’d come to the wrong friend.

Theodore was notorious for hooking up with his PR dates in an effort to feel something and ending up vomiting from alcohol or cocaine induced binges afterwards. He so badly wanted to be normal, have a normal relationship, and no matter how hard he forced himself, life simply didn’t work that way. But unlike Theodore, Shahnaz didn’t necessarily have to force himself. Alina had told him Shahnaz was pansexual; he could feel something for Daisy that Theodore just wasn’t capable of.

Rory elbowed him in the side.

Theodore cleared his throat. “Maybe you should just talk to him like a normal human person instead of freaking out and drinking your weight in whiskey. Alcohol’s a depressant, you know.”

Alina huffed and narrowed her eyes on him. “I’m not a normal human person, that’s the whole problem. People hate my people. _Our_ people,” she said, gesturing to Theodore who raised his hands innocently.

Rory groaned and shook her head. “We’re not going to do this, are we?”

“She’s drunk. Let’s not,” Theodore inserted swiftly.

“I am not drunk!” Alina declared, glaring at him and swinging her gaze around towards Rory. “And what? What? Are you going to argue something different?”

Rolling her eyes, Rory shook her head. “The Lower 48 is so angry. Everybody hates you. Everybody hates your sexuality. Everybody hates your race, gender, socioeconomic class, whatever.”

“Isn’t that true?”

“Isn’t your dad in the army?” Rory retorted prompting a grunt from Alina whose nose wrinkled.

“Navy,” she argued weakly. “That doesn’t mean America isn’t hateful.”

“I think you’re confusing society with people. People aren’t hateful, society is,” Theodore remarked with a shrug. “Everybody hates somebody.”

Alina nodded and took another long swallow of her whiskey. “That’s why Brexit happened.”

“That’s not why Brexit happened,” Theodore stated calmly.

“Isn’t that why Trump happened?”

“I don’t really want to talk politics with you,” Theodore said uncomfortably.

Alina and Theodore did depressed in two totally different ways. Theodore did drugs and drank alcohol to excessive amounts, he also became a hermit and locked himself away in his house so he didn’t have to interact. Alina fell into the belief that the whole world was against her. Theodore wasn’t sure he had the constitution for that sort of belief. He wasn’t naïve enough to believe that there weren’t people that hated him for what he was or the way he looked, but he also wasn’t of the belief that everyone was out to get him or that the world owed him anything.

And prior to everything happening between her and Shahnaz and management, Alina hadn’t been the type either.

Rory nudged him with her arm and smiled, “You don’t have an opinion about politics?”

“Let’s hear yours first,” Theodore said smoothly, beaming brightly at her sudden nervous tittering. “Gun-toting, animal abusing, huntress Alaskan native that you are.”

“It’s not animal abuse,” Rory said hotly. “They’re _working_ dogs. _Working_ horses. What would they do if they weren’t working? Alaskans can’t just keep recreational pets outside of the cities. Everyone has to pitch in so that when winter comes we can all survive. You know this.”

Theodore grinned. He did. His first encounter with Rory had been when he was seventeen. His adoptive parents had always wanted to go see Alaska so he’d planned a two-week family vacation for them, Anchorage to Fairbanks with smaller stops along the way so that they could see the whole country. Rory had been in Anchorage volunteering at the Alaskan Native Heritage Center and giving tours. She’d hitched a ride back up to Fairbanks with them after the first couple times she’d seen him in town and expressed an interest in seeing the world outside of Alaska and doing something with her media and communications degree.

She’d bid her parents in Manley Hot Springs goodbye and flown back to LA with him only a week later.

“I just want to strangle him some days,” Alina confessed into her glass, running a hand through her hair and shaking her head. “For being so okay with this whole thing. Like, it seemed like a game at first, right? But it’s not fun anymore. I can’t even look at him when he comes to bed some days. I just wanted to bash him over the head with that casserole pan my grandmother sent me for Thanksgiving. But that still wouldn’t be enough.”

Rory blinked at her before nodding slowly. “Wow, okay, we just got super extra violent.”

“I mean, don’t you feel like shit when they do this to _you_ ,” Alina asked Theodore, pleading with him to understand.

Theodore sighed and ran his fingers through his hair, grimacing at the sticky gel in it. He’d have to talk with Claire about putting product in his hair yet. Again, he was not the best person to ask. His coping mechanisms consisted of drugs and alcohol, neither of which he’d advise to help Alina and one of which she’d already started to abuse when she felt her life slipping completely out of her control.

“Wow, for a bunch of winners, you’re all over here looking decidedly morose,” Penney Dear stated as she sidled up to them. “Who died?”

“My love life,” Alina lamented.

Penney’s eyebrows rose as she nodded, leaning against the bar on the other side of Theodore. “Right…” she hedged cautiously, knowing better than to delve into that particular conversation. “Sure, what about you?” She asked him, hip-checking him pointedly and nodding a greeting to Rory who took her presence as an excuse to exit and make her way towards Theodore’s current bane of existence. Rory had never been comfortable around celebrities; Alina and her band being the lone exceptions since she’d known them in the infancy of their fame.

“I’m fine.”

“He’s pining.”

Penney raised her eyebrows while Theodore sighed exhaustedly. “Tell me the truth: are you high?”

“Why does everyone always ask that? I do not get high that often,” Theodore stated.

“Yes, you do,” both Alina and Penney said simultaneously.

Theodore pressed his lips together with a mulish expression. There was only so much denial he could do before he had to admit facts to himself. Until he got drunk enough that Mabel brought up his drug use, Theodore didn’t think it was as much a problem as people claimed it to be.

“I’m not high.”

Alina nodded her head in agreement and reiterated, “He’s pining.”

“For who?”

“For no one,” Theodore said sharply, shooting Alina a harsh look that she responded to with a delighted laugh. “Ignore her. She’s pouting.”

“I’m not!” Alina protested loudly.

Penney’s disbelieving look silence Alina with a soft, defeated sigh. Batting her eyelashes, Penney scooted closer and leaned into Theodore to whisper in his ear, “But seriously, who is he?”

“But seriously? Where’s your boyfriend?”

With a long-suffering sigh, Penney’s eyes darted over towards where a waiter stood with a tray of hors d’oeurves, picking at a prawn cocktail and chatting with Soren Reid and with the Critics’ Choice Award winner, Tabby Malone. A blissful smile spread across her lips, and she shrugged delicately, “Schmoozing like the rest of his bandmates.”

“I saw Dominic earlier. Schmoozing’s not the word I would use,” Theodore noted dryly.

“No one’s perfect,” Penney stated blandly. “Anyway, can you two stop looking like the world’s about to fall down on your heads? You both gave outstanding performances. Azadi won Best International Group. You won Best Male Solo Artist and Best British Single. And I didn’t even know you were British.”

“You say this every year,” Theodore remarked tonelessly.

“He was born in London,” Alina informed Penney happily, downing the rest of her whiskey. She smiled drunkenly at the bartender, breasts threatening to tumble out of her powder blue off-the-shoulder lace mini dress. Theodore wrapped his arm around her waist and hauled her upright, letting her fall against him with a bright, very drunken smile, pressing a kiss to his jawline.

‘Water,’ he mouthed to the bartender, and the man nodded sympathetically.

“We met in Los Angeles, and he was already famous. Disney wanted him, but he went to Freeform instead. It was ABC Family at the time, right? And you were in that show about a conquered alien species, weren’t you? I remember because he tried to go to school for the longest time, but he kept missing all these days…”

“There she goes again. Oversharing,” Theodore said with a sigh.

Penney laughed, “Well I think it’s cute. Was he always so savage?”

“You should have heard the shit he said in US History class. He polarized the class. Our teacher loved it though because it was the only time the whole class participated in the convo. The wild shit he says about slavery,” Alina digressed.

“It was a long-standing and global institution that Britain racialized all on their own. There wasn’t a culture on earth that didn’t practice slavery at one point. I’m not going to get all self-righteous about it,” Theodore shrugged.

“Shit like that,” Alina pointed out unnecessarily.

“Brits didn’t racialize it,” Penney said, offended.

Theodore offered her a droll look. He’d read enough about Jamaica even in high school to know what the playing field looked like. Britain just didn’t want to own up to that particular aspect of their history. It didn’t bother Theodore any; he chose not to dwell on things that had nothing to do with him. Besides, half the shit he’d spewed in their history class only came out of his mouth to piss people off, and for the most part it had worked, which he supposed answered Penney’s question well enough.

Rory tentatively came up beside him and tipped up her chin. His expression fell, and she smiled sympathetically, reaching out to squeeze his hand in a conciliatory gesture albeit empty. “He said it’s time. Just a couple pap shots, and you’re both done for the night. He assures me that he knows all of the paps taking the photos and trusts them implicitly, but you two have to sell this.”

Nodding, Theodore took another sip of his soda wishing that it were spiked with vodka or rum or absinthe at this point. Sliding off his stool, he nodded goodbye to Penney and Alina, catching the eye of Javed and Mizra, two of Alina’s bandmates, where they were in conversation with some of the Scarlet Letter girls. Their faces slackened, and they nodded in understanding, making their apologies and starting towards the bar to intercede in whatever drama Alina could stir up unsupervised.

Rory led him to the entrance where Diana already waited, talking anxiously with her manager. She looked pretty enough that selling this wouldn’t be a problem; pretty enough that people would want to like her. Diana’s strawberry blonde hair fell down her back in long, thick waves, hazel eyes sparkling lined with thick lashes and eyeliner. Her dress was a flashy but still artfully demure kimono-style crepe dress with sandal pumps that looked too old for her. The vivid red clashed with her strawberry hair, but it would do.

His eyes shifted Harry whose ability to skirt the line between hipster and fashionable made Theodore want to peel the clothes off him with artful precision. And he would one day, too, when he convinced Harry that it would be worth his while to be in Theodore’s bed. His dark green eyes met Theodore’s momentarily, darkening and moving away to glance at Diana. Clearing his throat uncomfortably, Harry nodded pointedly refusing to look at Theodore who grinned.

“This is simple. You walk to the car, be flirty. Maverick’s not getting in, just escorting you there, closing the door, coming back. Diana, follow his lead. He’s done this before. He knows what he’s doing. Maverick,” he started, looking over. He stopped abruptly and fell silent, clearing his throat and looking away again. “This is going to be the easiest thing you two do all month. So, let’s get started.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the history class stuff (actual shit I've said in history class to provoke a reaction). I mean it got a bunch of disinterested teenagers suddenly riveted. Second, I recommend everyone visits Alaska. God help me, it's the most incredible place I've been in all my life, Europe included. 
> 
> About Maverick's drug use, first of all he's high-functioning mostly because his team tries to monitor him with mixed results, but despite how high functioning he is (and my discomfort writing scenes where he would be high and/or drunk due to personal experiences with troubled family members) he does cocaine at least a few times a week but closer to every other day. He's handling the drugs because he's been using a long time, but let's not mistake him for being okay. He's not just supervised.


	6. "The Dark Times" The Weeknd ft. Ed Sheeran

**Penelope Dearly (@penney_dear)**

Kicking off filming with my favorite little parttime acting turtle @MaverickOfficial

 

**Maverick (@MaverickOfficial)**

@penney_dear lmao I’m a turtle now cuz I don’t like football :/

 

**Breaking Fourth (@breakingfourth)**

Thanks to everyone for making 'The Road' the number one on the iTunes chart in over thirty countries #biglove #Thanks

 

**Text message from Rosie**

**Rosie:** Do you know what’s up with Cris and Iri?

**Harry:** Has it started already?

**Rosie:** Do you mean has Iri texted me what’s up with Cris while he’s being petty?

**Rosie:** Then yes, it has already started.

**Rosie:** Do you know what IT is?”

**Harry:** I have an idea but I’m waiting for them to implode on their own time

**Rosie:** O well that’s great then. Wtf

 

**A blossoming romance in London?**

American pop sensation, Maverick, traveled to the US over a month ago to attend the BRIT awards before being to film steampunk epic, _Shipwreck Compass_ , alongside Penney Dear. Though he said in a previous interview he wasn’t looking for love, it seems he might have found it. Since meeting at the BRIT awards after party, Maverick’s been spotted numerous times with upcoming singer/songwriter, Diana Hawthorne. The pair have been seen partying together at Ministry of Sound and Fabric while also in more intimate settings leaving restaurants and breakfasting not far from The Beaumont Hotel where Hawthorne’s been staying as she searches for an apartment. In his latest interview on Dorian Speaks, Hawthorne insisted she and Maverick were just getting to know one another while Maverick stated plainly he didn’t have a girlfriend while on with Alyce and Jameson, but we’re excited to see where this one goes. They sure are a cute couple!

> **Comments:**
> 
> **Anonymous:** Can’t he ever just be screwing a girl. He just turned 20. He doesn’t have to marry every female he’s photographed with
> 
> **Mav &Mayhem:** Who is this chick anyway? Some rando brit nobody?
> 
> **PeaceLoveSoren:** Excuse you she’s a fantastic singer. Soren Reid is producing her first album.
> 
> **Anonymous:** Well excuse me she’s still basically a nobody
> 
> **Anonymous:** I’m going ahead and calling PR stunt
> 
> **Amaverick4life:** Or maybe he’s actually screwing her? Not everything is a PR stunt…

 

**Alina Rosen (@AlinaAzadi)**

My bae @MaverickOfficial here to support us on #TheRoadTour

 

**Irish Rose (@rosieposie)**

Most depressing movie marathon with @DorianII @HaroldBSterling @Cherrie_TA: August Osage County, The Book Thief, Schindlers List, Maverick, Flowers in the Attic...wtaf

 

**Diana Hawthorne (@ThatGoddessDiana)**

When a lunch date turns into something more ;)

 

**Teddy Langston (@TM_1996)**

Another try. Another fail. I’m going to vomit in all seriousness.

* * *

Rosie sat cross-legged on the stool by the bar in a killer ruffled chiffon romper and Gianvito Rossi ankle boots that had to have been a gift from Cris with as much as he knew they cost. Xoyo was not Harry’s favorite club, especially since getting all the way out to Shoreditch was a genuine pill on the best of days and worse still since Irial tended to party until three in the morning when the trains shut down and left them stranded and vying for a taxi. Still, with the looming cloud of depression that hovered around Irial most days since Cris had gone away on tour (and even before that) Harry could allow himself a moment to ignore his misgiving and go with it.

His best friend, on the other hand, obviously couldn’t. She’d yet to take her eyes off of Irial since they’d stepped into the club, sipping her Red Bull and Double Vodka with the daintiness of a queen and keeping her gaze locked firmly on where Irial had been a dancing hurricane imbued with vodka on the dance floor. Whatever had happened between him and Cris was getting worse and not better. Harry hadn’t seen Irial quite this bad since the days when both of them were feigning at being ‘just friends.’

“Should we take him home?” Rosie inquired skeptically, making no move to intercept his partying.

Cheryl slanted her a disbelieving look and shook her head. “And get body parts bitten off? No thank you. I’m going to order us three Jagerbombs and we’re going to pretend like Irial’s implosion is happening to someone else’s friend. I don’t need anymore verbal abuse from him today.”

Harry raised his eyebrows and considered her words carefully.

Irial didn’t often have the habit of lashing out when he got upset. He internalized and self-sabotaged and that was generally the end of it. Except Cris Emerson wasn’t typical and seemed to throw Irial off his usual step. Not for the better either. He’d been curt and snappish and depressing all at once recently, since even before Cris left on tour. Since…Harry pursed his lips and considered when this had started seriously before huffing. He suddenly had a very clear picture of what was going on and rather wished that he didn’t. He didn’t want to inevitably have to bury Cris alive, especially not at the height of Breaking Fourth’s popularity.

“Has he been that bad?” Rosie asked tentatively.

“Um, yeah,” Cheryl replied like she couldn’t believe Rosie had the audacity to ask such a ridiculous question. “This isn’t even typical tour jitters. This is absolutely extra. It’s horrifying. I’ll kill him.”

“Let’s leave the knives at home, shall we?” Harry asked politely, running his fingers through his hair and shaking his head.

“Right, let’s pick Harry’s brain instead,” Rosie said with a smug smile. “Tell us about Maverick.”

Harry choked on his drink, setting it aside to gape at Rosie. Clearing his throat, he tugged at the collar of his shirt, abruptly feeling crowded in the busy club despite being at the bar and away from the overcrowded dance floor. The thumping bass only seemed make his heart beat faster, skin overheated, and palms sweating. Even if he’d wanted to do his fair share of dancing tonight, Irial made that impossible.

His mobile vibrating in his pocket, and Harry sighed, fishing it out.

Well, Irial and Johanna.

**Johanna:** Everything running smoothly with the outing today?

Rosie tried to lean over his shoulder to read his phone screen. Harry swatted her away and bit his bottom lip contemplating what exactly he should tell her. Truthfully, all he had to go on was Rory and Washington’s words since the latter had been making reports all day. They’d only been asked to go on a highly publicized lunch date at Kennington Lane Cafe, but despite initial hostilities, the pair had branched out on their own afterwards, apparently taking advantage of the break in frigid weather to walk the Vauxhall Pleasure Gardens.

Preston Duke had been practically preening with the news when Harry messaged him about it.

Their break from protocol didn’t comfort Harry in the slightest. He had the dreaded sinking feeling that he commonly had before everything went wrong and forced him to swiftly mop up the mess. He wanted to find Maverick and drag him home by his hair like a caveman. More because of how badly he could screw this up than any niggling feelings of jealousy. At least, that’s what he’d decided to tell himself.

**Harry:** I guess so.

**Johanna:** I don’t like the way you said that. You guess so. Why do you guess so?

**Harry:** Mav and Diana went rogue.

**Johanna:** Isn’t that a good thing?

If Maverick had been straight or even bisexual, then Harry wouldn’t be so worried. But his complete and utter disinterest in women made Harry certain that Maverick was very much gay. He could be wrong, but Harry certainly didn’t think so. Maverick might have been a skilled enough actor to win awards, but in his personal life when the cameras were put away, his attempts to conceal those aspects of himself simply fell to the wayside. That wasn’t to say he didn’t try, but Harry just thought that he didn’t exactly succeed.

In any case, the antagonism he felt for Diana seemed unlikely to die, and if sleeping with her seemed like a reasonable solution now, it certainly wouldn’t be when he woke up tomorrow and went on a bender. If he even lasted that long. And Diana, God forbid, would be so butt-hurt about the whole thing that the tension they already produced in spades would only multiply exponentially.

**Harry:** I very much doubt it.

**Johanna:** That’s great. Lovely. Awesome. U have a handle on it?

**Harry:** Why? You on a date?

**Johanna:** Introducing my boyfriend to my dad. So yes

**Harry:** I got it.

“Always working,” Rosie lamented, scowling.

Harry shot her a droll look but didn’t comment on her wishy-washy employment history. Rosie was a creative unlike Harry and couldn’t handle a nine to five work schedule without completely losing her mind. That being said, her tendency to live off what little money was in her bank account despite having a difficult time keeping a job save for her short-lived stint working in Starbucks with him and Irial was both legendary and alarming. She wanted to write children’s books, but after her fiftieth rejection had thrown that dream away and luckily met Soren who’d taken one look at her scribbled poetry and offered her a job.

Whether or not she felt unfulfilled not living her dream of writing YA and middle grade fiction wasn’t something Harry felt confident enough to ask. She still finished a manuscript every couple months and archived them away never to be seen in the light of day. Otherwise, Rosie refused to discuss them and both he and Irial knew better than to pursue the subject and raise her ire.

“I know what a bore,” Cheryl scoffed in amusement, shaking her head. “I’m glad I only work in the afternoons. Couple business meetings, but no one’s calling me for advice or neediness. Lord only knows the emails you get about Cris Emerson.”

Harry nodded, “They’re almost on par with the ones I get about you and Micah.”

“Ha. Ha.” Cheryl deadpanned rolling her eyes and snagging the Jagerbombs that the bartender brought over for them. “Okay assholes, let’s go. I’m not letting anyone get out of this. We’re all doing this together.”

Harry made a face. “I prefer Apple Sourz.”

“Lame!” Cheryl yelled, slapping her palm on the bar counter. She ran her wickedly long fingernails through her teased out red hair and grinned her matte purple lips at them. Harry and Rosie exchanged a long-suffering look and turned towards the counter. Harry grabbed the smaller glass of Jäger and held it over the Red Bull, pulling a face already at the way it would undoubtedly taste. Cheryl grinned coyly at he and Rosie. “One…two…”

“Three!” Rosie usurped, dropping in the Jäger and lifting the glass to swig down the concoction.

Harry followed behind more sedately, grimacing as he forced the liquid down his throat. He coughed and sputtered, holding a hand over his mouth to keep himself from choking on the beverage. He didn’t like Jäger or Red Bull, which made this a perfect combination for him to try and gulp down like he absolutely loved the flavor. Slamming the glass back down on the counter, Harry grimaced and waved down the bartender who already had a glass of water ready for he and Rosie with an amused smile.

Snatching up the glass, Harry chugged until Rosie elbowed him in the side and snagged the glass from his hand, swallowing down the rest of the contents with disgust on her face.

“You two are so incredibly lame. It’s Jäger!”

“You mispronounced poison,” Rosie stated coldly.

His phone vibrated again and Harry groaned with annoyance. Rosie and Cheryl shared bemused smirks while Harry flipped on his phone and found a slew of text messages from Breaking Fourth about—who else?—Irial and Cris.

**Cris:** Is Iri ok? You should see his Instagram.

No, Harry was really glad that he hadn’t and couldn’t. There was a reason Harry had stopped following Irial’s Instagram account after second year. Why anyone who knew him followed that particular social media account mystified him. Irial’s mother hadn’t let his siblings follow his Twitter until they’d started sixth form due to his incredibly graphic content.

**Benji:** Do you know why Cris is all sad faced over here?

**Benji:** Is this about Iri?

“Where are the boys tonight?” Harry asked Cheryl.

“Sheffield, I think,” Cheryl remarked absently. “It’s early-ish April? Then, yeah either Sheffield or Liverpool.”

Harry glanced at the time displayed on his phone. Thankfully, they’d likely be going on stage very soon, because he wasn’t sure he had the patience to weather a gazillion needy text messages from popstars _and_ deal with his friends _and_ deal with his Maverick-induced anxiety.

**Dominic:** Why does Cris look like a lost puppy?

**Dominic:** Why is Iri not answering his phone?

**Dominic:** Do you know what’s going on here?”

When Cheryl’s phone chimed, Harry glanced over at Cheryl to see her grimacing down at the device in her hand. She held it away from her body, staring at it like a poisonous snake and slowly setting it down on the counter top. With a lackadaisical smile, Cheryl patted the back of it and looked up at Harry. He smiled wanly, and she cleared her throat uncomfortably.

“That Micah?”

“No,” Cheryl said swiftly. Harry crooked an eyebrow and Rosie crossed her arms over her chest studying her doubtfully. Cheryl sighed and ran her fingers through her hair, shaking her head. “Why does Irial even have an Instagram account? And for fuck’s sake he and Cris are way too immature to be in a relationship like this. And goddamn, why is everyone so invested in their love life? I’m sure as hell not! I just want to sit at this bar and drink a little and dance a little and go home to bed. Why is this so hard?”

“Because they’re children,” Rosie stated forthright, waving her hand airily, “just _all_ of the male species. Infants, the whole lot of them.”

Cheryl slammed her glass down on the counter and nodded her head in agreement. “That’s right. Hell yeah. Amen. And now, just for that, I want to know about Maverick, Harry. Give us the goods. Don’t leave anything out. Like is he as hot in person as he looks on TV? I bet he is, and you’re an excellent judge of character to know. So give it up.”

Rosie nodded in agreement, wide smile on her face. “Yup, spill the deets.”

Harry looked between the two of them in disbelief. “You two work with celebrities every day. Why this fascination with Maverick?”

Gaping, the two exchanged another significant look before leaning towards him. Harry scooted away uncomfortably and held up his hands as if that would deflect their attention.

“Maverick is not just another celebrity. He’s _Maverick_.” Rosie stated plainly while Cheryl nodded her head in agreement. Between Irial and Cheryl, they’d been trying to get Maverick on their show for weeks. Since hearing he’d be coming to the UK. When that hadn’t worked, they’d turned their collective puppy dog gazes onto Harry as if he’d somehow talk the boy into appearing on their radio show. Except that he wouldn’t because there was absolutely no reason to subject anyone to that sort of banter unless absolutely necessary. Or unless they were Cris and Micah who found their partners’ shenanigans endearing rather than exhausting.

“Okay, well,” Harry started uncomfortably, pausing when his mobile phone vibrated again. Expecting another text message, his brows furrowed when the vibrating continued and raised when he saw Washington Leverett’s name flashing across the screen. Holding up a hand, Harry brought the phone to his ear and pushed away from the bar, already heading to the club’s exit. “What’s wrong?”

“He’s…I mean…I don’t know how to get him out without anyone seeing.” Washington admitted sounding defeated. “I told him not to, you know. He just gets like this an I can’t—”

“It’s fine. It’s okay,” Harry assured him hurriedly. This wasn’t anything he hadn’t expected. “Where are you?” He asked, darting out of the club without even pausing to collect his jacket from will-call. If they wouldn’t give it to Rosie, it was no great loss anyway. He waved his hand and flagged down a black cab.

“Tape London,” Washington said uncomfortably.

Harry grimaced whatever condition Maverick was in, a club was probably the wrong place to be. “We’re looking at thirty minutes for me to get there so here’s what you’re going to do. Lock the door if there’s no one else in the bathroom. I’ll call the club when I hang up with you and notify them. Was he seen?”

“I don’t know.”

“That’s fine. Call Oscar and have him pull the car to the back of the building. Make sure Maverick doesn’t take more, and give him water. Okay?”

“Okay.”

Harry grimaced and shook his head, hanging up the phone and digging through Google until he found the number for Tape London, spending ten minutes arguing until the girl on the phone handed over her manager who took the situation with a great deal more seriousness. A celebrity taking drugs in the club’s bathroom was not something that Tape London wanted to make the five o’clock news. And if they didn’t do this quietly, it wouldn’t just hit primetime, it would be on the international presses by breakfast.

When the cab pulled up on the curb, Harry was still on the phone with the club. He tossed the cabbie a fifty note and thanked him quietly, climbing out of the backseat. Shooting off a quick text to Rosie, Harry pulled out his ID and breezed passed the line to the front door. He offered his ID and was waved inside swiftly where the manager already waited for him.

“Mr. Sterling.”

Harry nodded, “Where’s the bathroom?”

The manager led the way through the club towards the back where a trio of boys were arguing with the maintenance staff insisting that the bathrooms needed to be fixed before they could go in. Shaking his head, the manager led them deeper down the hallway where two bouncers stood discreetly, blocking off the hallway from the rest of the club. Harry walked between them and rapped his knuckles on the bathroom door.

“Washington, it’s Harry.”

The door opened just enough for him to slip inside, eyes landing immediately on Maverick. He was curled on the floor in the corner, breathing labored, and clothes sticking to his skin from the sweat. His hair fell around his face, and the long sleeves of his Moschino hoodie had been rolled up, hands clenched in his hair.

“Did he overdose?”

“No,” Washington said with a pinched face and a sigh. “He just gets like this when he mixes alcohol and cocaine. I wouldn’t have let him but I didn’t know he’d done cocaine already when we came here. Guess he did it in the bathroom.”

Harry froze and glanced over at him. “Diana Hawthorne’s bathroom?”

Washington sighed this time. “I tell him not to do shit like this.”

“It’s fine. This is not my first time,” Harry admitted. He walked across the tiled floor to crouch in front of Maverick. He rested a hand on his knee, and Maverick jerked, gazing up at him dazedly for a minute, pupils dilated and nose bleeding slightly. Harry looked back at Washington who’d already started to wet a paper towel.

“Harry,” Maverick hummed thoughtfully, “You’re here.”

“You’re not.” Harry said in answer, accepting the paper towel from Washington. He dabbed at the rivulet of blood, and Maverick tipped back his head with a sigh, eyes on Harry unwavering. “How do you feel?”

“I fucked up.”

“Where do you want to start?” Harry returned with a long-suffering sigh.

“I tried not to.”

“The drugs or the sex?” Harry couldn’t help but needle. He heard Washington snort behind him while misery washed over Maverick’s face.

He shook his head, eyes watering. “It never works.”

“Then why try?”

“I don’t want to be like this.”

“Like what?”

Maverick’s eyebrows furrowed, body falling still and something like sanity returning to his gaze as he met Harry’s eyes. With a watery smile, he admitted, “I want to go home.”

Harry nodded and rose to his feet. Alone, he could probably haul Maverick out of the bathroom and down the hall to the back door, but considering how antsy Washington was, Harry only nodded at the man who bent down to help Maverick to his feet, wrapping the man’s arm around his neck and holding him upright with an arm around his waist. Maverick stumbled, trying to regain his footing and Harry waited until Washington nodded before he opened the door and met the club manager’s eyes.

Through the empty back hallway muted by the music of the main club, they maneuvered to the alley behind the club, door opening to the chilly April night. Oscar, grimace painted on his face, already had the door open, window rolled down where he sat in the driver’s seat with anxiety written across his face. As Washington slid the popstar into the backseat, Harry turned to the club manager and offered his card and the sketchy promise of repaying the favor when the man needed it before climbing into the backseat.

Maverick curled into a ball on the seat, and Washington passed Harry a bottle from the backseat. Rolling his eyes, Harry glanced down at Maverick with a pang of sympathy and realized he was already in way too deep for his own comfort.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like I said Maverick is...troubled. Anyway Tape London, Kennington Lane Cafe, and Xoyo are all real (or were when I wrote this). I've been to Xoyo and cannot say I enjoyed it. It's overcrowded and overpriced and afterwards my drunk roommates got me lost and we spent two hours wandering around in the cold. The Vauxhall Pleasure Gardens, though, are beautiful. I wrote my final paper there for journalism second year in the spring.


	7. "Never Be The Same" by Camila Cabello

**Diana Hawthorne (@ThatGoddessDiana)**

Sometimes I think it’s me, but this time #fyi it was definitely you asshole

 

**Text message from Rosie**

**Rosie:** Irial’s seriously lost it tonight.

**Rosie:** Where did you go?

**Rosie:** Are you every coming back?

**Rosie:** Cheryl’s ready to go since drunken frat boy has ruined the mood.

**Rosie:** Paging Potter…

**Harry:** Had to go. Grab my coat. Thnx

**Rosie:** Um…what even?

 

To: adelaide.johanna@dissidentmanagement.com

Cc: preston.duke@godfreygroup.com; lysa.thomas@godfreygroup.com

From: sterling.harry@dissidentmanagement.com

Subject: Last Night’s Incident

Last night it appears that Maverick took cocaine in Diana Hawthorne’s bathroom. Once he left, he went to the club Tape London where he drank. Apparently these two materials didn’t sit well in his system, and he got sick. His bodyguard called me to help escort him from the club. It was handled and aside from a few mentions online that people thought they’d seen him in the club, there doesn’t appear to be any traction to the story or any news outlets picking it up. Best to keep an eye on it though. And Diana.

Best,

Harry Benton-Sterling

PR Dissident Management

 

**Text message from Johanna**

**Johanna:** Why didn’t you call me?

**Harry:** trying to sleep.

**Johanna:** Since I just got your email you’ll be awake.

**Johanna:** WHY DIDN’T YOU CALL ME.

**Harry:** Was busy.

**Harry:** Trying to sleep.

**Harry:** Bye.

 

**Text message from Johanna**

**Johanna:** I’m only going to say this once

**Johanna:** Take it down.

**Diana:** When he apologizes for what he did I’ll consider it.

**Diana:** Until then I hope the whole world thinks I’m shading him.

 

To: sterling.harry@dissidentmangement.com

From: thatgoddessdiana@gmail.co.uk

He’s such an asshole.

I want out.

-Diana

* * *

His head ached. His throat was sore. His mouth was parched.

The clothes on his back stuck to him like a second skin and tugged painfully with every shift and turn. His eyes opened slowly, and he winced at the pain that lanced through his head from the light filtering in through the sliver of the curtain. A weak, pale morning light that shouldn’t hurt nearly as much as it did. Keeping his eyes closed, Theodore forced himself to sit upright, soles of his feet on the cool tiles of the floors, and head spinning as he recalled in horrifying vivid detail the night before.

Diana. Cocaine. Club. Alcohol. Passing out. Harry.

Harry.

Theodore groaned and shook his head, turning his head towards the bathroom. At least, he’d woken up in his own house even if he had awoken in his adoptive parents’ bed. The mistake could be forgiven, especially since none of his staff had ever come to his house. There hadn’t been a reason; they were never really in London long enough for the question of which rooms belonged to whom to occur.

When he found his footing, Theodore padded out of his parents room down the spiral staircase that gave him nausea and a tentative bout of vertigo just from the descent. He stumbled off the staircase and into his bedroom a floor below. It looked generic, always had, like a page out of a magazine. He’d only lived in this house a year before Curtis and Mabel had adopted him and moved to the US, and Theodore had never quite thought things would be permanent. The only sign of his own presence in the space was the dusty instruments tucked away in shelves and hanging from racks on the wall, faded notebook paper with scribbled music chords tacked up on the walls. He pursed his lips and stumbled over to his suitcase, grabbing what half passed as presentable clothing and lumbering into the bathroom.

The shower was quick, efficient, and scalding enough to clear the last remnants of his previous night’s debacle from his head, though his body would be feeling the aftershocks for some time.

Theodore pulled on a pair of dark jeans and a hoodie two sizes too big for him and at least ten years old. Twisting his damp locks up in a bun he’d regret later when the curls morphed into a giant, intricate knot, Theodore reached for his glasses on the side table before pausing and cocking his head, head tilting up and nose testing the air. His house distinctly smelled of cooking meat. His rumbling stomach might be enough to prompt delusions of grandeur, but usually none this vivid.

But it couldn’t be from his house, right? Last he’d checked, he had a six pack of Red Bull, several cans of beer, and half a pint of chocolate ice cream in his refrigerator along with some mayonnaise that hadn’t seen the outside world since Theodore had hit puberty.

Leaving his glass behind despite the contacts irritating his eyes, Theodore crept down the stairs to the ground floor. He sulked through the living room like a thief instead of calling out like the homeowner, through the living room and into the kitchen. The two doors leading to the roof terrace were open allowing in the crisp but fresh morning air filtering in from Hampstead Heath behind while some jazz played over the radio atop Mabel’s antique French hutch tucked in the wall between the kitchen peninsula and the walnut dining table still decorated with the horrible fake lilies that Curtis had spent half his day threatening to throw out.

The last thing Theodore expected to see after the previous night’s debacle was Harry Benton-Sterling who’d forgone what he vaguely remembered as clubbing attire for a simple button down he’d stolen from somewhere in the house over the skintight jeans hanging low on this hips. His hair was held back by a bandana while he bent over a stove ignoring the mobile phone vibrating insistently on the table top.

Theodore grimaced.

Those calls were likely all about him.

Enticed by the aroma of food, Theodore crept closer to the peninsula to get a good look at the plates spread out on the counter. Fried egg, grilled tomato, sausages…his mouth watered. The toaster popped with a ding.

“I know you didn’t get this from my kitchen.”

With a dismissive laugh, Harry shook his head in agreement. “Since you’re not doing anything important, grab the toast and butter it up like a good boy.”

“I have butter?”

“You have butter _now_ ,” Harry replied curtly, bringing a smile to Harry’s lips as he plucked the two slices of bread from the toaster, cutting them into triangular halves and buttering them. “You’ve been living here on frozen pizza and leftover takeaway. Let’s be honest here, if it wasn’t for the gym you converted, you’ve be eight hundred pounds. I’ve never seen someone save McDonalds chicken wraps before.”

“I don’t even know where the supermarket is,” Theodore muttered. “When I lived here last, I didn’t do the shopping.”

“It’s ten minute’s walk down the road.”

“Walk?” Theodore sputtered in disbelief, whirling around to face him. “Can you not drive?”

“No!” Harry declared huffily, waving him away as he brought the bacon from the pan over the plates to drop a hearty helping of back bacon onto their plates. Theodore gazed down at the food in wonder. It had been a long time since he’d had a home cooked meal. Every now and then Washington and Rory took pity on him, rounding up the troops and having some sort of pot luck at his place in LA, but it wasn’t the same. In all his travels, Theodore had ascertained that Britain didn’t do food particularly well, but they did breakfast superb, beat out only by the Irish. “I am a Londoner. Why would I have ever needed to drive?”

Theodore’s eyebrows rose, but he let it go to collect silverware from the cabinets and the two cups of tea steaming beside the kettle. He smiled. Yorkshire Breakfast Tea. Harry had gotten them the good stuff.

“It’s been a long time since I had a fry-up,” Theodore said sliding into a seat.

Harry stilled and narrowed his eyes. For once, Theodore ignored him, more concentrated on the food than distracted by both his embarrassing crush on Harry or his dislike of being studied like a science experiment. He hummed in delight as the first slice of sausage settled onto his tongue.

Sitting down, Harry raised his eyebrows. “Maybe you really are English. I’ve never heard an American call a Full English Breakfast a ‘fry-up.’”

Theodore shrugged, cutting the fried egg in half and letting the liquid from the yoke settle onto the bread, he brought both to his both with a smile. When he finished chewing, he chased the food down with a swallow of the tea and allowed himself a moment’s blissful smile. “I never said I wasn’t English. Everyone just assumes I’m not.”

“You don’t have an accent.”

“That’s what they tell me,” Theodore stated dismissively.

“Also, your mother called when you were…out.”

Theodore froze like he’d been caught committing a crime. His eyebrows rose, index finger tapping on the end of his fork. “Oh?”

“Um-hm,” Harry hummed like he didn’t know he’d just dropped a dirty bomb in Theodore’s lap. He cut a piece of the back bacon and brought it to his lips before pausing and saying, “She called to say they’d be leaving Venice in the morning and stopping off in London to come visit you.”

“And when was that?” Theodore asked through gritted teeth, hesitating to even inquire.

Harry chewed his bacon and looked at his watch thoughtfully. When he finished chewing, he nodded his head and smiled pleasantly. “Four hours ago.”

“Fuck.”

Nodding sagely, Harry ripped off a piece of toast and popped it into his mouth. As much as Theodore wanted to continue stewing on his parents’ imminent arrival, he found it exceedingly difficult. Now that his headache had subsided and his belly filled, his body reminded him of all the reasons he could barely function in Harry Benton-Sterling’s presence. His intensity should have been intimidating, but aside from the daunting feeling of being completely overwhelmed and utterly seen through, it really just made Theodore want Harry to hold him down and fuck him.

Probably not a good feeling to have when the man had seen him at one of his lower points the night previously. Especially not since Theodore faintly remembered blubbering like a baby about being lonely and just wanting someone to love him. He wasn’t a child anymore, and he really ought to have outgrown this childish desire to be loved and adored by someone who wouldn’t leave him. Everybody left, and love was a transient condition.

“I remember what happened last night,” Theodore admitted uncomfortably.

Harry nodded his head and cut into his fried egg. “Good, otherwise I’d have to call you a liar.”

“I should have known better.”

“The sex or the drugs?” Harry inquired, a moment of déjà vu slamming into Theodore as he remembered beginning this discussion in the club’s grimy bathroom while he’d been absolutely wasted, curled up on the floor. He hadn’t answered then, but Harry wouldn’t let him get away with that now.

“Both I guess,” Theodore admitted with a timid smile. He scratched the back of his neck and shook his head. “I just thought…I mean it doesn’t really matter and it’s probably a lie. I hoped is more truthful, but I knew it wouldn’t work when I did it, then I couldn’t handle what I did.”

“Why do it if you know it’s not going to work?”

“I just want to be…normal.”

Harry considered this borderline lie for a moment, expression thoughtful as he chewed his sausage and shook his head. “I don’t buy it. Try again.”

Theodore flushed; he wasn’t necessarily surprised that Harry had seen through his façade, but it certainly hadn’t happened often. Part of the attraction with Harry was this. Foster care had taught Theodore how to manipulate. How to lie without lying and talk without saying anything. Harry saw through everything, dragging truths out of him like he was wringing water from a damp tea towel. It drove Theodore insane and absolutely turned him on. It had been a long time since anyone had called him on his shit and even longer since anyone had bothered enough to try.

“What do you want me to say?”

“The truth,” Harry shrugged dismissively. “I can guess what happened last night, but enough people let you get away with that shit hoping one hook-up with a pretty girl will magically turn you straight and you let them because you need that one moment of connection that no one’s going to scold you for. And fine, okay, except it makes you feel like such shit you resort to cocaine to make yourself stop feeling. You can keep up this destructive cycle with everyone else in your life, but me and you? We’re not going to do this. If you wanted someone to bullshit, I could have just told Lysa Thomas how to run your PR, get me?”

“I’m just tired,” Theodore admitted before he could stop himself. “Of being alone.” After another moment’s hesitation, he looked with defiantly and met Harry’s eyes across the table. “I’m gay.”

“I know,” Harry shrugged dismissively. “I’m bisexual, since we’re sharing.”

“You’re okay with this?”

“You’re not the first closeted celebrity I’ve met. You’re not even the most fucked up one. Congratulations,” Harry told him blandly, completely unmoved by his pronouncement.

And this was…not what Theodore had been expecting.

The usual responses to him vocalizing that he was gay and acknowledging that no matter how many women he forced himself to sleep with that wasn’t going to change were considerably more vehement than this. And the responses he received from going on a bender and screwing up the PR plans that had been carefully constructed around him often came with backlash and scathing criticisms of his professionalism, which he took offense to. When his professional life impended on his personal life, it wasn’t unprofessional to lash out. Who else literally took their work home with them?

“You’re not upset?   About last night?”

“Oh I’m upset,” Harry said with a laugh and a smile. “I’ve been getting phone calls and emails all morning about you, but nothing’s in the news. And I saw this coming when you went off script and disappeared with Diana for hours. And I can work with what we have of Diana. Besides, you already know you fucked up. What’s the point of hammering it home?”

Startled by that reasonable approximation, Theodore finished eating in silence and watched Harry.

The man finished his meal silently, draining the last drops of his tea, before rising to his feet and walking his plate to the sink. He swept Theodore’s plate out from in front of him while Theodore’s eyes tracked his progression across the room. He watched dumbly and tried to figure out what it could be if none of the obvious things were bothering him. Harry rinsed off the plates and grabbed for the frying pant, rinsing that off too before he turned to the kettle and flicked it on for another brew.

There had to be something. Something specific, because Theodore could tell from the way Harry’s gaze devoured him when he thought Theodore wasn’t looking that Harry’s disinterest was feigned. But if he wasn’t pissed about the usual customers in Theodore’s merry band of personal demons and character flaws, then what was causing this hold up? It’s not like they were teenagers. They were both consenting adults that were obviously enormously attracted to each other, and Harry was just…frustrating the hell out of Theodore.

“Have I been too subtle?”

Harry scoffed, not needing to ask what this was even referring to. He turned away from the counter and came over to lean against the ledge of the peninsula, arms crossed over his chest and eyebrows raised. “You haven’t been subtle enough.”

“So I came on too strong?”

“I feel like that’s an overstatement.”

“So what’s the problem?” Theodore demanded, standing up abruptly and fuming. The sexual tension was enough to drive him crazy. He wanted Harry and with every minute Harry spent looking delicious in his kitchen being an apathetic asshole, he wanted the man more. “You know how much I want you to fuck me.”

“Yeah,” Harry agreed, nodding. “I picked up on that.”

“So?”

“So…should we go through the laundry list of reasons why this is such a bad idea? The random sex with female you’re not even attracted to—”

“What are we married?” Theodore dismissed this as a disingenuous concern. Sure, Harry thought it was a self-destructive tendency that smelled heavily like self-flagellation, and rightly so, but it wasn’t actually his problem.

“—which leads you to indulging in cocaine and Tequila.”

“It’s not the drugs,” Theodore said confidently, dismissing this concern as well. It would be more believable to say that he was afraid his boss would find out. Maybe if they were looking at this more than just scratching an itch to get each other out of their systems, maybe if Harry could see Theodore long-term, then the drugs might be an actual concern. But Theodore wasn’t his client and wasn’t his boyfriend. His drug abuse wasn’t Harry’s responsibility. “People always say it’s the drugs, but it’s never the drugs. Is it the closeting?”

Harry’s eyebrow quirked with amused disbelief. “I’m a publicist. Like I care about the closet until the closet pushes back.”

Fair point.

“If it’s not the women or the drugs or the closet, then what? And don’t lie and say you don’t want me. We both know that’s not true. Give me one good reason why we can’t,” Theodore pleaded, stepping closer into Harry’s space. His mouth fell on his lips, heart speeding when Harry’s tongue wet them anxiously. His hands fisted the sleeve of his sweatshirt, breathing labored like he’d been running, and breath mingling with Harry’s he stood so close. Their heat mingled, and Harry swallowed uncertainly.

In a hoarse whisper, Harry said, “Maybe I just don’t want to be involved with someone famous.”

Theodore laughed weakly, hands trembling from how much he wanted to touch. He shook his head. “I don’t think it’s that either.”

Harry’s eyes met his.

Theodore didn’t know who moved first or when. One moment they hovered on the precipice, quivering from anticipation, and by the next breath they were on fire. Theodore’s hands cupped Harry’s face, fingers tracing over his skin and jawline like he was memorizing his visage to hold like a painting in his mind. Theirs lips crashed together, Harry’s hands squeezing Theodore’s hips almost painfully where he held Theodore tight against his body.

The kiss burned, an inferno that raged from the slightest spark, and Theodore surrendered himself to it. There was no build-up, no soft romantic pecks that gave way to the intensity of breathing each other in. From the first touch, their tension exploded, each touch setting Theodore on fire, each kiss hot, lips and bodies moving together. He moaned at the taste of Harry, tongues dancing together, hand in Harry’s hair, fingers brushing across his heated skin. It was all at once too much and not enough.

Theodore nipped at Harry’s bottom lip, trembling hands trying desperately to unbutton Harry’s borrowed shirt as they continued to kiss.

Harry’s hands ran over his thigh and lifted him to the kitchen counter. Grinning, Theodore crossed his ankles, legs wrapped around Harry waist and hands roving over the skin of his chest, shirt still half buttoned.

Hands dipped beneath the pooling fabric of his sweatshirt, skimming up the skin of his back, skin tingling from the faintest touch, his back arched, straining erection grinding against Harry’s. Lips moved down the column of his neck, nipping lightly at the skin at the back of his neck. Panting, Theodore’s hands fisted in Harry’s hair, eyes rolling back as he bit his lip and rolled his hips desperate for more friction, desperate for more than the teasing touches.

A throat was cleared primly behind them.

Theodore’s eyes flew open in less time than it took for Harry to yank away from him, refusing to look him in the eye as he buttoned the shirt. Theodore’s head shook slightly, not even turning to see who was in the doorway of his kitchen.

“I should go,” Harry said carefully.

“What? No,” Theodore protested vehemently

Harry tossed him a droll look, nodding at the people in the doorway and scooting passed them carefully.

“He’s never going to let me touch him like that again,” Theodore lamented, dropping his head into his hands.

“Hello son,” Mabel said in her slow southern drawl

Theodore looked up then, blinking owlishly and offering his parents an uneasy smile. Neither seemed upset or surprised to find him drying humping a man on the kitchen counter, which he supposed said quite a lot about his character. He cleared his throat awkwardly, still too worked up to be comfortable with his parent’s eyes being focused on him. Straightening, Theodore crossed his legs and settled his hands in his lap to hide the erection his mother had likely already.

“Hi, Mama.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to start posting regularly Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays unless I fall behind. It's unlikely since I'm on chapter 47, but possible considering my focus lately.


	8. "No Lie" Sean Paul ft. Dua Lipa

**Maverick (@MaverickOfficial)**

@ThatGoddessDiana don’t lie to yourself it’s still you. And don’t be shady. You have something to say, say it to me directly.

 

**Diana Hawthorne (@ThatGoddessDiana)**

Ok @MaverickOfficial you’re an egotistical prick. Go fuck one of your groupies. I’m too good for you.

 

**Maverick and Diana Hawthorne call it quits**

After nearly two months, American popstar, Maverick, seems to officially have called it quits with UK singer/songwriter, Diana Hawthorne, after a bitter Twitter feud. The two have spent all weekend slinging blame and insults back and forth, drawing in fans and news outlets alike to piece out what happened. Maverick fans are firmly of the belief whatever happened between the pair falls squarely on the shoulders of Hawthorne. And after the young singer Tweeted she was too good for him, fans went wild demanding to know who she thought she was. One fan Tweeted out “just because you won a single BRIT award and released one successful single doesn’t make you a star. You don’t even have an album out. Go sit down.’ Maverick’s scheduled to remain in the UK another month to wrap up filming for _Shipwreck Compass_ but it looks like we can discount the idea of the pair rekindling their romance any time soon.

 

**Text message from Johanna**

**Johanna:** Well she got her name out there

**Harry:** Yeah by telling one of the biggest celebs in the world she was too good for him.

**Johanna:** We’ll see how it goes.

**Harry:** If this goes bad, I’ll scalp her.

**Harry:** What happened to impulse control? Jfc

 

**Text message to Rory**

**Teddy:** Ok but you have his nmbr…

**Rory:** Yes…

**Teddy:** Ok but can I hve it…

**Rory:** LMAO

**Rory:** No

 

**RT by @Cherrie_TA**

**Irial Dorian (@DorianII)**

Check out @AzadiOfficial today on #DorianSpeaks

 

**Irial Dorian (@DorianII)**

Clubbing with @AlinaAzadi is the best time

 

**Alina Rosen (@AlinaAzadi)**

@DorianII lol good nights but I know what would make it better (you know I’m looking at you)

* * *

Theodore glanced at the screen of his phone, eyebrows rising at Alina’s Tweet. Her band had briefly flown back to London from Breaking Fourth’s The Road Tour to do a couple interviews in a lull between shows. He had not expected Alina I-Love-To-Sleep Rosen to take the night to go clubbing with UK’s radio sensation, Irial Dorian. He set the phone down carefully and considered her indirect invitation. His leg bounced against the floor, fingers tapping anxiously against the underside of the table.

He really shouldn’t go to a club in this condition. It wouldn’t end well.

“Teddy,” his mother said, tapping her fingers lightly on the table to regain his attention, she raised her eyebrows and smiled at him. “You alright, sugar?”

“Fine,” Theodore said quickly.

His father raised his eyebrows, tilting his head and studying Theodore thoughtfully. Curtis had always been intense, possessing an ability to make Theodore feel small with just a sideways glance. It had been one of the scariest parts of being in the house with him. The man was a former mechanic in the British airforce who’d met Mabel when she’d been working as a nurse. They’d never really been much for conversation. Instead, Curtis had taken to coaxing Theodore out of his shell by teaching him out to fix cars.

He always saw right through Theodore.

Setting down his silverware pointedly, Curtis raised his eyebrows.

“Is this about that boy from a couple weeks ago,” Curtis asked without the slightest hint of subtly to be seen. Mabel blinked in surprise, quickly popping another bite of cod into her mouth. “Because, Teddy, you really shouldn’t date boys that don’t even call you afterwards.”

“We’re not dating,” Theodore insisted quickly, coloring, infinitely glad that his parents had insisted on eating at the pub down the road instead of a restaurant where this kind of conversation would have been fodder for eavesdropping just due to the content let alone his presence. He quickly shoveled some of the mashed potatoes into his mouth to avoid any more conversation.

Mabel and Curtis shared a bemused look. “Well, obviously, sugar.”

Theodore choked, holding his hand over his mouth.

“Not everyone’s ready for a relationship.”

“I’m not ready for this discussion,” Theodore stated weakly, wiping his mouth with his napkin.

“You’re twenty years old,” Mabel said politely, taking a dainty sip of her cidre, eyes on Theodore. “Have you ever even had a serious relationship? Not one that your manager arranged for the press? A genuine relationship with someone you like and are attracted to, Theodore?”

“Does that matter?”

Mabel and Curtis shared another long look before she sighed and shook her head. She rested her hand on Theodore’s shoulder, squeezing sympathetically. Curtis’s eyes, though, weren’t sad but rather angry. Though he knew the anger wasn’t directed at him, Theodore flinched nonetheless unable to face their disappointment wherever it was directed. Always, the disappointment felt like a poignant and pointed slight against him no matter where that emotion was directed.

“You shouldn’t be afraid to try just because you might get rejected,” Mabel told him kindly, smiling slightly, she pressed a dry kiss to his cheek. He looked down at her, wrapping an arm around her narrow shoulders. Mabel rested her head on his arm, curly graying hair tickling his neck. Curtis watched them tenderly from across the table, though the stern look he shot Theodore said that he had picked up on his plain non-answer. Mabel had too and didn’t let it go this time. “How many times did you get rejected when you were doing your music?”

“None,” Theodore said with a slight laugh. “They found me.”

“Aw, right,” Mabel clucked her tongue. “Poor example.”

“I get it.”

“Do you?” Curtis inserted for Mabel who nodded her head sagely in agreement. Shaking his head, Curtis pointed a finger at Theodore. “You’re a twenty year old millionaire.” Theodore gritted his teeth and rolled his eyes mulishly. “How long are you going to do this? Ignoring feelings doesn’t make them go away. Try and maybe you’ll fail and maybe you won’t. Maybe it will fall apart or maybe it won’t. Maybe you’ll screw it up, or maybe you won’t. But you haven’t tried to change anything. You’re still the same thirteen year old kid that wouldn’t talk to us through anything but lyrics and poetry except now you paid twenty times what I made on my best year and have millions of people adoring you. You still sleep in that little impersonal bedroom.”

“The master’s yours,” Theodore argued insistently.

“We live in New Orleans,” Curtis told Theodore in a clipped tone that offered him no sanctuary.

“And I live in LA.”

Curtis scoffed, “You, Teddy, don’t _live_ anywhere. You’re always touring or filming or traveling for some PR stunt or locked away in our house songwriting on the patio. It’s time to start figuring out what you want.”

“We don’t want to push you,” Mabel said sweetly, tossing Curtis a hard look.

“But the life you’re living right now is not living,” Curtis interjected over his wife’s attempts to smooth the discussion. “Put personal belongings in the house you own. Screw someone you barely know on the kitchen counter.” Teddy choked on his beer, blinking up at Curtis in disbelief while Mabel shook her head with a long-suffering sigh, though she didn’t disagree with her husband’s commentary. “And if you want to go out with your friends say so.”

“Well, I didn’t before but now…” Theodore trailed off pointedly.

Mabel glared at Curtis who raised his hands in a gesture of innocence and allowed Mabel to wrap up their lecture. She turned to Theodore, holding his hand tightly in hers. She offered him a warm smile that did nothing to dispel the encroaching discomfort that had settled in him since they’d begun this conversation.

“We just want you to make a home for yourself. To be comfortable in your own skin and happy with the life you’ve built. That’s all we’ve ever wanted for you, Teddy. We’re leaving tomorrow morning, and we want to know that you’re not going to spend all your time working and writing and going on PR dates with models you don’t even like.”

Theodore stayed silently and ran his fingers through his tangled curls, lips pursed together tightly from the sheer force of his desire not to discuss this. He imagined most people didn’t want to talk about their personal lives with their parents, especially when it wasn’t even ‘who are you dating’ but ‘try not to fuck girls you’re not even interested in.’ How had he even gotten to the point where his parents felt like it was necessary to address this with him? He reached across the table to steal some of the crush peas from her plate.

Curtis and Mabel continued to watch him, waiting for some kind of acknowledgement that he’d heard and understood what they’d said to him. And really, how could he not have? Subtly had vacated the premises leaving behind only this burning hovel where all his attempts to feign normalcy had been stand aflame by his parents. Sometimes, he could even convince himself the jet setting, glamorous, playboy asshole in the tabloids was even real. His parents always brought him crashing down to earth violently.

Nodding his head faintly, Theodore tipped up his chin and crossed his arms over his chest. “So you want me to ask out a guy who’s probably not even interested in me to—what?—prove a point?”

Curtis rested both palms on the table and leaned forward. Theodore watched him tentatively, automatically wanting to shift away, but he held still kept his eyes on the man who’d put the most effort into raising him than anyone who’d ever known him. “I want you to do something you want to do. You do it for all your friends.” Mabel coughed and Theodore crooked an eyebrow. Curtis shrugged his shoulder and amended, “Okay, you did it for Alina more than a few times. What about you? That’s what I want.”

Theodore leaned back in his seat, biting the inside of his cheek and nodding thoughtfully.

Mabel patted his shoulder and gave him another kiss on the cheek. “Now off you go, your father and I are going to see _Phantom of the Opera_ tonight. You might as well go out and see Alina. Tell her we said hello.”

Laughing, Theodore nodded and slid out of the booth.

Oscar and Washington were already waiting for him outside binge-watching _Orange is the New Black_ on Washington’s phone while they shared Thai takeaway from the container. He slid into the backseat and rolled his eyes, smiling slightly. Their insistence at staying close by him stemmed from his early years going to parties, insisting he could get himself home, and calling them at three in the morning from gas station payphones, completely wasted. Somehow, that had never made it into the tabloids, but they were dedicated to making sure it never did.

“Where are we off to?” Oscar inquired curiously, peering at him in the rearview mirror.

Theodore pursed his lips and smiled, “Would you freak out if I said a club?”

“ _I_ would,” Washington intoned without missing a beat.

“Alina’s there. I want to see her before she heads back to mainland Europe for tour. She’ll be gone for months. I’ll try my hardest, and you have my permission to haul me out if I start for anything stronger than vodka.” Theodore said not teasing in the slightest. Of all the people that had problems with his drug use, his team saw the worst of his binges. They’d seen him collapsing in his own vomit and passing out walking down the street. No one enjoyed staying awake to check his vitals every hour, and though they protested strongly things had never got that bad, Theodore knew very well they’d done it on at least one occasion.

* * *

 

Koko was not a club that Theodore had been to before, but he’d heard of it during Alina’s short-lived university days. From the outside, the club looked like an old school theatre save for the long line of scantily dressed girls shivering in the chilly night air while beside them boys in long pants and shirts talked completely oblivious to the girls freezing their tits off beside them. Theodore figured he’d been lucky to have been born male since ‘dressing up’ for girls meant high heels, make up, and party dresses while boys pulled on their nicest pair of jeans and a shirt that looked like it hadn’t been slept in.

The bouncer waved him in when he caught sight of he and his bodyguard, both of them slipping inside the club’s lobby. Theodore tugged off his jacket and left it in the coat check while Washington kept ahold of his. Wading through the crowd, anonymity ticking away with each moment he stayed still, Theodore made his way up the stairs towards the bar overlooking the dance floor where he was more likely to find Alina, though not because she was any big drinker. More specifically, Alina was a social butterfly and preferred places where she could schmooze. She called it ‘networking’ but somehow Theodore thought conversing with boys that wanted to get into her pants didn’t entirely count as ‘networking.’

The stereo was thumping loudly, the music a tantalizing and impressive mix between house music, electronic, and the greatest pop hits. A disco ball attached to the ceiling threw a kaleidoscope of light across the room and throughout the crush of bodies writhing on the dance floor below. Koko was an impressively beautiful club, literally a gutted theatre with a stage where live bands or DJs played. A group of drunken girls stood on the ledge dancing along with the beat of a song Theodore only vaguely recognized as his own.

He eyes caught on a figure leaning against the balcony overlooking the dance floor below. Long dark hair had been twisted and pulled to the side, spilling over the amber skin of her arm. In a ruffled blue leopard-patterned mini dress and suede over-the-knee-boots, Theodore didn’t even have to guess. Slanting a look back at Washington, the bodyguard nodded and settled against the bar while Theodore started towards Alina.

Leaning against the railing beside her, Theodore looked over at her, grinning when she startled.

“Thank God, you’re here,” Alina declared.

Theodore raised his eyebrows. “What did you do?”

“Me? Nothing,” Alina rolled his eyes, gesturing sharply at the human hurricane tearing up the dance floor below them. “I came here because Irial was super depressed in studio right? I thought he needed cheering up and he’s such a party animal what a better place to cheer up than at a club? That makes sense, doesn’t it? But look at him: he’s a total wreck. I think I missed a memo somewhere. A big one.”

“Where’s Shah?”

Alina’s expression shut down so fast that Theodore temporarily regretted asking the question. She twisted a strand of hair around her finger, tugging her mobile phone out of her bra and showing him an Instagram photo of Shah and Daisy having dinner Bateux London, a super romantic restaurant on the Thames. Nodding slowly, Theodore plucked the plastic cup of coke and vodka out of her hand, tossing to back and throwing his arm around her shoulders. She sighed and wrapped an arm around his waist.

“You didn’t bring anyone else?”

“Of course I did,” Alina deadpanned, offended he’d asked the question. She had always been very serious about band loyalty, and Theodore was glad to see that was still true. He wondered how long it would last, when the cracks of pressure would begin to show in Azadi as much as he hoped it wouldn’t. “Yasmin split an hour ago. Filippa got back early from Greece and wanted to see her. And Mizra took off to get laid, that ass.”

Theodore stifled a laugh and shook his head, entirely unsurprised. Mizra had some kind of ridiculous animal magnetism that drew women—and men—to him like moth to flame. The amount of people that he managed to lure in was completely and utterly ridiculous in Theodore’s opinion, but it was still impressive all the same. Alina wasn’t altogether too much different from Mizra in that respect except that she’d committed herself to a relationship no matter how much he was starting to think she regretted.

Or maybe not regretted so much as felt insecure over.

“And Javed?”

“He’s keeping an eye on the human wrecking ball. We’ve been tackling him shifts while we wait for one of his people to come collect him.”

“His people?” Theodore laughed.

Alina nodded her head in agreement, falling still when she glanced behind them, a wicked smile curving over her lips. Theodore sighed, not shifting in the slightest when she pressed closer to him, standing on her tiptoes and whispering his ear.

“If I look like I’m totally into you, think your rabid fangirls would bother us?”

“Depends,” Theodore drawled, peering towards the bar where a gaggle of six girls around his age whispered and pointed at him, some with their phones out to snap pictures or video or whatever. The massive invasion of privacy no longer bothered him. At least in venues like this. If he didn’t expect to be photographed, videoed, or hit on in a club, then he had no business going out to them. Hand on Alina’s waist, he nudged her away from him slightly but smiled to sell her ploy. “Are you doing this to keep me from getting mauled or to get back at Shah and Dissident?”

Tossing her head back in a delighted laugh, Alina shook her head and patted her hand against his chest. “You’re not fun,” she said with a playful pout. She leaned up to peck a kiss to his lips that was neither unexpected nor unusual. Slipping her hand into his, Alina tugged him towards the stairs. “Come on, let’s avoid your fan club and help Iri’s guy get him out of here without making a complete ass of himself.”

“Who is this guy?” Theodore inquired, glancing at Washington over his shoulder to see that the man was already moving, putting his body between Theodore and the growing crowd of girls vying for pictures of him.

Taking the stairs down, they came out on the dance floor, weaving through the crowd of gyrating bodies towards where Javed had towed Irial into the wings, talking seriously to someone. A redheaded girl with wicked curves and yoga pants slapped Irial’s hand away every time he reached for the cup she held away from him gingerly. By the time, they reached the small crowd, Washington ushering them into the shadowed and near empty staircase, a familiar voice, lilting and musical and cold was saying, “Is this about Cris? Are you ever going to have an adult conversation about what this is? We are not in uni anymore. Drinking and clubbing and screwing every guy that catches your eye is not impressive anymore, Irial.”

Whatever Irial said was drowned out by the redhead shaking her head and cutting him off, “Forget it. Forget it. He’s not capable of rational conversation, Harry. I’ll drag him outside, let him cool off and catch a cab back.”

“Just call for an Uber.” Harry stated, glancing over at them. His eyes fell on Theodore, inscrutable. “I’ll catch up.”

The girl nodded and started hauling Irial towards the exit, squeezing Javed’s hand in thanks before taking off. Alina sidled closer to Javed, their eyes moving between Harry and Theodore, eyebrows creeping higher up their foreheads.

Washington cleared his throat and nodded his head at them.

“Right, I’ll talk to you, Teddy,” Alina said, pressing a kiss to his cheek and eyeing Harry speculatively.

“Thanks for taking care of Iri,” Harry said to them.

“No big deal,” Javed said as Alina dragged him away. “We’re familiar emotional retardation.” He shot Alina a look, and she rolled her eyes, tugging him into the crowd without looking back.

Theodore’s gaze returned to Harry, drinking in the sight of him despite how awkward he looked in clothes that his personality had clearly outgrown. His hipster fabulous attire was as much a façade as Theodore’s public charm. The chinos, t-shirt/flannel/scarf/jean jacket combo, and the cheeky hat he wore spoke absolutely legions about what he’d been like in uni, but Theodore’s question was why he insisted on dressing like that in front of one of his closest friends. Assuming he didn’t drive to pick up drunk and depressed casual acquaintances. Assuming Irial wasn’t a client.

“It doesn’t even surprise me,” Harry laughed slightly.

“I keep telling myself that I want you out of my system. That a couple really good fucks and we can wash our hands of whatever this is,” Theodore confessed.

Harry tilted his head and considered his words seriously before shaking his head. He flicked the brim of his hat, eyes meeting Theodore’s without even a hint of doubt. “I think that’s a serious overestimation of our characters and sex drives.”

“At this point, I really don’t care. I want you anyway, and I’d rather work out the details later than just carry on like I’ve been doing because I’m so attracted to you that I can’t even think straight half the time you’re around. You’re mean and cold and a total asshole, and everything about that turns me on to levels I didn’t even know I had.”

Laughing slightly, Harry nodded thoughtfully before saying, “Not tonight. I have three roommates and Drunk-and-Depressive and I’m not looking forward to having your parents see me dry humping you ever again.”

“Can I at least have you phone number?” Theodore inquired with a coy smirk.

With a husky laugh, Harry nodded his head, pressing a quick, lingering kiss to Theodore’s lips. His hands fisted in Harry’s shirt. His lips curved at Theodore. “I mean, I guess that’s doable.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Koko is a real club that's actually in an old theatre in Camden, London. It's actually one of the few clubs I actually liked, architecturally speaking, but I'm too much of a homebody to have actually enjoyed the experience.


	9. "Sua Cara" by Major Lazer

**Maverick (@MaverickOfficial)**

Filming wrap parties would be sooo boring without @penney_dears brand of fun ;)

 

**Penelope Dearly (@penney_dear)**

@MaverickOfficial don’t be a hater :P

**BBC Radio 2 Interview with Zane Ceros**

**Zane:** I hear congratulations are in order. You were nominated several times at for the BET awards.

**Maverick:** That’s what I hear.

**Zane:** You’re even performing this year. Do you know yet what that’s going to look like?

**Maverick:** I mean I love performing award shows. There’s just so much more you can do at award shows than in concert. I knew I was going to have time so I called Kimberly Lakshmi and was like ‘hey want to collaborate’ and she goes ‘I’ll call you back.’ Turns out she was calling up Ike, whose raps I do know but I’ve never met. She calls me back and says ‘you, me, Ike boom.’ I mean okay.

**Zane:** Kind of sprang that on you huh?

**Maverick:** The best kind of surprise. We’ve all be super busy, you know. I’ve been filming here. Kim’s literally in Europe. She’s flying over to perform, then flying right back. Ike’s been touring with JP Healy. We’ve been doing all the work on this song online so the first time we really get to see it is going to be our dress rehearsal.

**Zane:** And what then? Filming? Touring?

**Maverick:** I just got off tour so probably recording. We’ll see. I’m open to it.

 

To: teddymaverick96@gmail.com

From: preston.duke@godfreygroup.com

Subject: The BET Awards

Please don’t give me any lip about the BET Awards. We’ve already been over that you don’t want to go. You’ve already made it clear why. I’d like to state that you agreed to performing at the awards ceremony and were nominated for three awards. The least you could do is attend.

Preston Duke

 

**Text message from Harry**

**Harry:** R u still complaining? Ur at the airport.

**Maverick:** Correction I’m on the plane

**Maverick:** I don’t want to go.

**Harry:** Whinyyyyyy

**Harry:** Is this because ur bringing Marley Afwa as your date or cuz u just don’t want to go

**Maverick:** Can it be both?

**Harry:** Whats the problem?

**Maverick:** The same with every award show in the last 2yrs. Who wants to sit through hrs of angry?

**Harry:** But Dido Lynn Darby’s going to be there.

**Maverick:** Yeah but ur not.

**Harry:** Sux to be u.

* * *

“So she says to me: ‘I’m gonna make you the next Naomi Campbell or Tyra Banks.’ Which, fine. But she says this to me while I’m eating caramel popcorn and watching _Stranger Things_ ,” Marley Afwa said with wild gesticulations and an outraged expression. Theodore popped a piece of candy into his mouth, raised his eyebrows and considered her with a bemused smile. All of the PR dates, Marley might have been one of the best choices. “So then she says: ‘What kind of model eats sugar covered popcorn?’ Like, the ones that enjoy desserts with their sci-fi tv shows. What kind of a question is that, you know?”

“I hear you,” Theodore offered with a lazy grin.

Hell if he didn’t like Marley.

Harry, in his demented kind of caring, had sent Theodore half a dozen articles about the biracial storm that was Marley Afwa. She’d been heralded as America’s Cara Delevigne, the next coming of Naomi Campbell, and even more beautiful Gigi Hadid. Theodore saw in the absent sort of acknowledgement he dealt for women who caught his interest. Marley was fun and defied just about every stereotype for models that there was. In the three hours since they’d met, she’d eaten everything in sight, drank her weight in champagne, and chatted about _Star Wars_ and _Star Trek_ with the passion of a die-hard fangirl.

And she was gorgeous, skin a smooth milky brown with a smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose. Dutifully, Marley was tall and slim but with a fine layer of muscle that made her more defined than the usual brand of skin and bone and beauty that Theodore thought made up most models. Her dark hair cascaded in natural curls down her back to the middle of her shoulder blades shot through with purple highlights. She tottered on her Gucci heels like a baby deer learning how to walk and tugged at the hem of her embroidered mesh dress like she was willing it to grow several inches longer.

He had half a mind to wonder how his manager had managed to find such an excellent person to stunt with when he realized he’d never told Harry exactly who’d be stunting with. A slight smile slid across his lips, shaking his head. Harry was one of the most emotionally repressed people he’d ever met, himself included.

“Bored?” Marley inquired with a grin as they settled back into their seats.

“Is it obvious?”

Marley shrugged one shoulder delicately, waving a hand in front of her mouth in a gesture that looked more aesthetic than her attempt to hide yawn. A smile spread across her lips as she sprawled in the seat, turning her head and grin at him, her dazzling peacock crystal earrings glinted in the dim light. She waved politely at a trio of passing rappers who raised their chins in acknowledgement, looking her up and down like a piece of meat. Waving them off dismissively, she returned her attention to Theodore.

“Awards shows are always boring. I mean just think it’s a multibillion dollar industry organizing a whole event to pat themselves on the back for making a gazillion dollars out of the pocket of hard-working blue collar Americans.” Theodore licked his lips and smiled at her uncertainly. People could hear them, and Theodore knew better than to start talking about delicate subjects like that in places where people could hear. Marley, though, seemed willing to throw caution to the wind. He supposed that it wasn’t as necessary for her to cultivate good working relationships with actors, rappers, and hip-hop stars as it was for him. “My mom, Heidi, instilled a deeply pessimistic view of Hollywood types in me. After meeting them, I can’t say she was wrong.”

Behind them, Andre Deben snorted at her comment, rolling his eyes. The R&B star's obvious disdain for the opinion didn’t seem to affect Marley in the slightest. She waved her hand again, dismissing him entirely.

“Honestly, I don’t know if people do that anymore because I think Hollywood is the deepest cesspool on earth and the most corrupt by _far_ or because I mention my mother.” Theodore raised his eyebrows. Harry’s crash course on Marley hadn’t included her family background. Marley’s eyes darted around before she leaned in and whispered behind the back of her hand, “She’s white.”

Theodore laughed and shook his head. “So Harry found you and asked you to do this?”

“My agent always has her feelers out for dumbass shit like this. But I figure if she lets me have booze and mozzarella sticks, I can agree to a couple boozy PR dates and the occasional boring award show. I met my last boyfriend at an award show.”

“Was he also white?” Theodore teased.

“Again, part of the problem. All of my boyfriends have been white.” Marley said, dropping her words to a whisper with a conspiratorial glance around the room. Then she straightened and beamed, “Except Nicky. He’s a basketball player. Biracial. Which I thought, fine, then he got all political on me. I get enough of that from the Sci-Fi movies I adore. Sometimes I just want to like enjoy life without hate or anger or angst, you know?”

“You’re the best PR date I’ve ever had,” Theodore stated through misty eyes.

Marley beamed and patted his shoulder serenely. “You’re a sweetheart but I don’t date color.”

In front of them, a T.Weiss, a producer, and his wife, Tonya, turned around to gape at Marley with outrage. Theodore devolved into manic laughter, unable to help himself. Unmoved by their disbelief, Marley waggled her fingers at the pair and blew them a kiss. “That’s so racist, Marley,” Tonya hissed.

“Did your mother teach you to behave that way?” T.Weiss added cruelly.

Even if it started as a tentative joke, Theodore sobered at the mention of her mother. For all her posturing and teasing, Marley clearly adored the woman who’d raised her. Within thirty minutes of meeting, she’d been demanding to know if he could see her ass when she bent over because she didn’t want her mother to see a picture of her looking anything less than a classy. ‘It’s bad enough she’s seen me walking down the runway at the Victoria’s Secret Fashion Show. I told her not to watch, and she went and recorded it! And screenshotted it! And sent it to my _brother_.’

Mothers were always a sore subject.

Marley’s lips twisted up in a cold smile. She crossed her legs and leaned forward, resting her forearms on her knee. Batting her eyelashes, the model stated plainly, “No my father who abandoned me and my brother. But that’s okay we can talk about racism if you want to. I mean we can go there if you really want to because I heard your rant to an interviewer about how white people are corrupting America and determined to see ‘your people’ forever on the plantation. About how you deserve reparations for everything you suffered. Should we talk about what you suffered? Or should we talk about what my mother suffered as a single mother out of work on medical who couldn’t afford rent and food but couldn’t get food stamps because she made five bucks too much. You want to talk?”

Scoffing, T.Weiss turned back around.

With a sigh, Marley sat back in her seat and rolled her eyes, turning her head towards Theodore. He blinked at her taken aback by her vehement argument, and she smiled brightly. “Don’t look so scared. I’m not going to eat you. Not unless you want to talk smack about my mother too.”

“I like being alive.”

Marley tossed his head back and looped an arm around his neck, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Best PR date ever. You were a good find. The Godfrey Group should give Harry Benton-Sterling a raise.”

Theodore coughed uncomfortably shaking his head. “He doesn’t work for my management company.”

The look Marley leveled on him was one of fascination and a coy curiosity. “Well, well, well, look who’s winning all the popularity contests lately.”

Her words startled enough laugh out of Theodore’s mouth as his phone vibrated in his pocket. Pulling it out, a smile spread across his face as he opened it. Marley slid him a sly look, resting her chin on her palm.

“Girlfriend?”

Theodore offered a noncommittal grunt.

**Harry:** U can thank me.

**Harry:** Marley’s right up ur alley. Don’t lie.

Tossing her hair over her shoulder, she narrowed eyes on Theodore, pointing a finger at him thoughtfully. “Not a girlfriend. But you’re so into this chick. What’s wrong? Is she famous? Is she _not_ famous? Is she stringing you on?”

**Teddy:** I won’t lie. I like her. She’s cool.

Theodore rolled his eyes and glanced over at her. Shaking his head, he ran his fingers through his tastefully messy hair. Whatever that meant. Whenever Claire started to go one about his hair, Theodore tuned her out. It was long enough to tie back and straight enough that the curls didn’t mold themselves into gigantic knots with the breeze like when he was a child. That was good enough for him.

“Just always busy,” Theodore admitted without committing to a gender. “Not famous, but fucking always busy. Although since I’m in LA at an award show and doing like seven interviews in the next three days, I can’t say much.”

**Harry:** Don’t have sex with her

**Harry:** I mean you can but then do not come crawling back to me talking about wanting to fuck

**Teddy:** lmao I hear you. I get it.

**Teddy:** (but if I don’t will we finally get it on?)

**Harry:** Get it on? U don’t expect me to answer that atrocity right?

“Be super romantic,” Marley said with a grin, kicking up her legs into his lap. She tapped her finger against her frosted lips. “I mean you’re bound to win Best Collaboration for that song you did with Raquel Rafiq. Just get up on the stage and say this chick’s your muse or whatever. Chicks like that don’t they?”

“Like I said, I like being alive,” Theodore reiterated, shuddering at the ways Harry would murder him if he announced to the world he was infatuated with someone. The ways _Marley_ would murder him if people assumed Theodore meant her. Marley fell in line with viciousness that Harry possessed in spades. Laidback, go-with-flow, like a cat that decided enough was enough and went for the jugular. Or a rattler who gave you fair warning until you took that step too close. “Also, are you sure you’re a chick?”

“That’s what my mom says,” Marley said, laughing, before she paused and looked over at Theodore. “About herself. Although for years she thought I was a lesbian. Something about basketball shorts—she hates them. But they’re so comfortable why not? I was fourteen I can be forgiven.”

“I get the feeling you wear a lot of yoga pants when you’re not at events.”

Marley beamed up at him, “How did you know?”

“Heads up, Elena Valence,” Theodore told her with a pleasant smile at the girl gliding towards them.

If he had any interest in socializing, he’d start a biracial think tank for artists like him and Elena Valence. While he had no idea about his parentage, hers she paraded around with the appreciation of a daughter who had been adored and appreciated her whole life. Her parents were divorced but apparently still maintained cordial relations. Her father had been famous in his own right, a baseball player out of Tennessee who’d messed up his knee and started coaching at Vanderbilt. Her mother according to the dozens of reports that flooded the media was cocktail waitress turned restaurateur who’d married a Hawaiian real estate developer and eventually crafted an empire together.

Smiling at them pleasantly, Elena Valence came over to them with a bright smile. Her date being her disinterested step-brother, Mikala Hina, an actor who had no desire to converse with anyone. From the eye roll Marley hid, she and Elena Valence had some kind of beef, but Theodore had nothing against her. If anything, he was fascinated by her songwriting and wanted to collaborate with the notoriously solo artist.

“I’m so glad familiar faces are here!” Elena cried brightly, skipping over to them. She wrapped Marley in an awkward embrace before rocking back on her heels to beam up at Theodore. “Half these people are legends. The other half I’ve never even heard of before, but I probably shouldn’t say that.”

“You don’t listen to hip-hop?” Marley critiqued doubtfully.

Theodore rolled his eyes and tugged at her hair until she yelped and glared at him. “It’s fine. You’re a pretty hardcore pop artist. Some of the people here are way too deeply entrenched in hip-hop and rap to be in your peripheral view.”

Elena shot Marley a pointed glance before she continued excitedly. “I actually came over here to talk to you about something specific. How long are you in town for? Because I was hoping we could work together on some kind of collaboration. I was absolutely floored by your album. I mean I could wax poetic about that song ‘Symphonic’ and ‘Synergy of Us’ was like…” Elena lost her ability to speak and shook her head while Theodore smiled, cheeks red from embarrassment but oddly charmed by how into his music she was.

“Yeah, I mean,” Theodore said hesitantly with a burgeoning smile and excitement welling in him. “I hear you work pretty fast. I’m back to London at the end of the week so if you’re up for some intense studio sessions, it’s definitely doable.”

Elena squealed excitedly. “Awesome, awesome,” she beamed while Marley sank into her seat and hid her irritated scowl. They exchanged numbers before Elena slunk away as the festivities started up again.

The only decent part about award shows were the mini concerts that happened into between long-winded speeches and self-congratulatory pats on the back. His mother had always been disappointed that he didn’t quite understand the honor of being nominated and winning awards like this. He’d devolve into a puddle of emotion if he ever won a Grammy but that was more from the tradition surrounding the practice rather than the honor he felt being chosen as the best for that year at whatever. He was mildly more subdued by the awards where fans voted; invasive they may be, but he adored his fans and was always humbled when they went to town and showed him some love.

Marley spent most of the two performances talking smack about using the word ‘nigga’ in lyrics, drawing the ire of everybody sitting around them while Theodore sank into his seat, hiding his laughter behind his hand. ‘I only ever had one person call me that in my whole life. It was my first day of middle school when we moved from Jersey to Philadelphia. You should have seen my face. My whole life changed! Like what did you _call_ me?’ Marley exclaimed in the sheerest disbelief only stopping when he was called to the stage with Raquel Rafiq to accept the award for their song ‘On the Breeze’.

When they disappeared behind the stage, Theodore barely had time to hug Raquel before he was being accosted by Rory who dragged him to the dressing rooms where his hair and makeup stylist, Claire Hervaux, and her sister, his wardrobe stylist, Marceline, waited to descend on him with clothes more suitable to performing albeit not by much. He shucked jeans without rips and holes for appropriately distressed ones and exchanged the button-down and blazer for a t-shirt with a Bengal cat on it and a hoodie leather vest. His watched was stripped and replaced with some leather wrapped bracelets and a skulled ring.

Kimberly grabbed ahold of him with a teasing grin the moment he stepped out of the dressing room, trailing behind Ike who nodded to them already looking way too in the zone for this performance. She stopped short abruptly, banging her knuckles against his abdomen and pointing at where a woman with caramel skin and a cascade of thick black hair that faded to a lighter brown approached them in an incredibly subtle but still shockingly striking amethyst organza gown.

Waving off her assistant, Dido Lynn Darby stopped in front of them and smiled.

Neither of them could feign indifference. Dido Lynn Darby was Beyoncé levels of incredible in an entirely difference way. Dancing the line between a more classically jazz, blues, and R&B beats, she had kick started her career at twenty-two years ago in the heart of the nineties by reminding everyone exactly what they had loved about the era of disco, jazz, and blues being three entirely separate genres. At thirty-eight she with twin twelve-year-olds and an award-winning play-and-screenwriter husband, she seemed to show no signs of slowing down.

And Theodore was totally fangirling.

“Good luck on the performance,” Dido offered them with a genuine smile, eyes moving from Kimberly to Theodore and lingering there. Her eyebrows furrowed for a moment, expression politely thoughtful. “Have we met before?”

“Definitely not,” Theodore stuttered out in disbelief. “I definitely would have remembered that.”

Kimberly swatted him, “Ignore Mav. He has no manners.”

“Right, Maverick,” Dido said seeming to taste the words in her mouth with an increasingly uneasy smile. “You’re from New Orleans, aren’t you?”

“By way of London. And my Christian name is Theodore,” he told her earnestly.

Dido blinked in disbelief like she’d been slap before quickly pasting a smile on her face. Theodore frowned, and she shook her head, waving an airy hand.

“Have you ever been to London?” Theodore couldn’t help but prod, identifying her discomfort and poking at it. Idol or not, Dido Lynn Darby was being incredibly weird. He didn’t like her enough to let her shadiness drop without testing the waters.

Laughing brightly, she shook her head. “Not recreationally. A few concerts of course but never long enough to _visit_. You know how that is,” she teased him. They all turned when the production assistant whistled, flagging them down. Turning back to them, Dido glanced between he and Kimberly, pausing too long on Theodore for a moment too long before grinning. “You’re being paged. Have a good show, I’m sure it will be excellent. You’re all so talented. I’m sure you’re both used to hearing how amazing your voices are.”

“Well,” Theodore said lightly, not moving his eyes from her suspiciously, “I’m vain. I like to be told I’m loved.”

Dido winced.

Theodore grinned while Kimberly gaped at him. He placed a hand on her lower back and nudged her towards the stage where Ike stood glaring at them like they were late. “Lovely to meet you. I’m sure I’ll see you around.”

The woman’s eyes flickered to him coolly, no longer cowed by his barbs. He stared back hard until Kimberly tugged him towards the stage and away from…well, whatever _that_ was.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year ya'll! Isn't Dido Lynn so creeptastic?
> 
> So the middle school 'nigga' altercation is a true story. I don't know what my face looked like but no one ever tried to call me that ever again. The discussion about biraciality is a conversation loosely based on the one I had recently in class where apparently I have to choose but if I choose wrong then I'm a race traitor. So, there you go. But everyone have a happy new year while I take cold medicine and bringe watch Empress Ki...again.


	10. "She Lovin It" Trey Songz

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here be smut

**Kimberly Lakshmi (@KimberlyLakshmi)**

I feel like I’m 12 fangirling hard over meeting @DidoLynn

 

**Maverick (@MaverickOfficial)**

@KimberlyLakshmi I feel you for reals #imdeadtho

 

**Marley Afwa (@Marley_Afwa)**

I feel like I should publicly celebrate my newfound friendship with @MaverickOfficial

 

**Maverick (@MaverickOfficial)**

@Marley_Afwa this is how rumors get started ;)

 

**Maverick plays hard while in LA**

Pop sensation, Maverick, returned from filming in London for the BET Awards before announcing he’d be going back in order to collaborate not only with Spanish producer, Santiago Reyes, out of London, but also with a number of UK artists. But he spent the week after the award show up to his usual tricks. After attending the show with supermodel, Marley Afwa, the pair were spotted a number of times grabbing lunch and strolling on the beach. He also made plenty of time to meet up with beloved pop singer, Elena Valence, who he was seen grabbing coffee with numerous times near the popstar’s Beverly Hills home. And if two girls wasn’t enough he was seen several times in the company of a mystery woman while out around the town. He couldn’t possibly be dating all these women, but with Maverick who’s to say?

**Comments:**

> **jean10lauv:** Okay but like that’s his PA, Rory Tannen?
> 
> **meformav:** Right…does nobody fact check? Rory’s been his PA for 8 YEARS
> 
> **Anonymous:** because it’s impossible he’s screwing his Pa…
> 
> **annelmao:** Is he Kristen Stewart now? Is this a thing we’re going to debate now?
> 
> **saturdaysisters:** Do we care? It’s not like Maverick’s been one to hide his girlfriends in the past. Why is this tabloid fodder. And why can’t he and Marley be friends? And why can’t he and Elena just be talking shop, they’re both singers? And why can’t he not be screwing someone he’s known for 8yrs? Where is the logic?
> 
> **realbo$$bitch:** And while we’re at it maybe he’s fucking his bodyguard too! What levels of crazy are we gonna reach to? I just want to know so that I can be prepared.

 

**Text message to Harry**

**Teddy:** Out of curiosity how mad would you be if I went straight to ur house from the airport?

**Harry:** Out of curiosity how likely am I to fuck you after my bff fangirls over your existence.

**Teddy:** Out of curiosity how do I make this sex thing a thing?

**Teddy:** Because I behaved. I didn’t have sex with anyone.

**Harry:** Congrats on not screwing girls ur not attracted to.

**Teddy:** :( be nice to me. I’m horny and desperate and desperately horny.

**Harry:** Did you do drugs in LA?

**Teddy:** I mean ecstasy doesn’t count right?

**Harry:** What exactly do you consider behaving?

**Harry:** Do not spam me. I’ll figure out…or not…we’ll see.

* * *

Harry was so fucked.

Between Rosie’s Fourth of July party planning, Irial and Cris’s emotionally turbulent relationship, and everything even remotely related to Diana Hawthorne’s commentary that she was too good for Theodore Maverick that happened over two months ago, Harry didn’t have time for sleep or solitary meals let alone a pit stop to the airport for a booty call with a popstar. Yet here he was, camped out in the back of Oscar Mejia’s car with a tablet on his lap, a phone chiming every five minutes about some massive, imploding emergency, and most of his attention focused on the crowds outside Heathrow Airport because feigning indifference to Theodore’s apparently insistent desire to get laid didn’t _actually_ make him indifferent.

Repeat: Harry was so fucked.

Theodore Maverick was technically a client. A client with emotional baggage Harry couldn’t even begin to understand. And a drug addict with increasingly erratic tendencies. He was also, Harry was beginning to suspect, more than just a musical genius. His brief stint wondering around Theodore’s house revealed enough raw and untrained musical talent to consider him a prodigy. Most people couldn’t play at least ten instruments and compose across musical genres. Yet, here was Theodore pretending none of that was true or even remotely possible.

He was so attuned to the man he barely even know that he spotted him in the crowd long before he noticed Washington looming behind him and Rory rolling her eyes as she shouted into the phone. His heart rate picked up from the first glance at least partially due to how soft Theodore looked without being draped in designer clothes. Not that the track pants, boots, and long-sleeved t-shirt weren’t designer. Even the beanie pulled over his hair was probably brand name, but outside the usual high-end glitz he looked less like the manipulative shithead Harry knew and more like the twenty year old he actually was.

Washington moved to take his bag as they got to the car, and Theodore swatted him away with a good-natured smile and snagged the bag from Rory’s hands, hefting it over his shoulder and trotting to the car. Rory rolled her eyes and opened the door. She paused on seeing Harry before rolling her eyes and grinning, slipping into one of the two second row seats and waiting as Theodore and Washington tossed the bags into the trunk, bickering playfully.

Theodore climbed in first, taking off his sunglasses to hang them on the neck of his shirt and freezing in the doorway as his eyes fell on Harry. A tentative, uncertain smile spread across his lips.

“You came.” Theodore said brightly, tapping an upbeat rhythm against the doorframe.

“Get in,” Washington ordered.

Harry scoffed uncomfortably, rolling his eyes, “Don’t make a big thing of it.”

“For me,” Theodore continued happily, beaming.

Rory snickered while Oscar sighed and yelled, “Theodore get in this car.”

“Obviously I came for Washington,” Harry snapped curtly a moment before Theodore had slipped inside forgoing the seat entirely to straddle Harry’s lap. The publicist in him said this close to the airport—even _with_ tinted windows—this was an incredibly bad idea. The rest of him settled hands palms on Theodore thighs, not complaining with Theodore’s hands cupped his neck, lips settling over his in a passionate kiss, grinding against him. Harry pulled away when he ran out of press only vaguely aware that they were moving, Rory was snickering, and Theodore was rolling his hips like he was in heat. “It is an hour to your house in traffic, babe. Do not get yourself worked up in this car.”

Theodore hummed, licking a stripe up Harry’s neck to nip at his earlobe. Harry huffed out a breath, closing his eyes and willing himself to regain a hold on sanity. “It’s way too late for that,” Theodore whispered in his ear.

“There’s three other people in this car.”

“They don’t care. Please, please, fucking please, Harry. I need you now. And yesterday and immediately. Now.” Theodore pleaded in his ear, pressing their lips together urgently and moaning as Harry’s hand shifted to palm his erection through his pants.

Harry was way too old to be going at it in the back of a car with three other people. He was twenty-two not a horny teenager. He hadn’t been this bad in uni, and he was determined not to be now. Pulling back, he licked his lips, chasing Theodore’s taste, and shook his head insistently. “I care. I care a lot. Settle down.”

Laughing wickedly, Theodore settled against Harry’s body, arm looping around his neck and foreheads pressed together. The position was intimate. The heat was cloying. And Theodore was tantalizing, tangling his hands in Harry’s hair and pressing kissing against the column of his throat. It wasn’t a coincidence; it was an assault on Harry’s self-control that Theodore mastered artfully.

“You’re a liar,” Theodore whispered in Harry’s ear. “You don’t care. Feeling like you _should_ care is not the same as caring. It’s okay that you’re a liar. I’m a liar. I like it, but don’t lie to me.” He followed up the pronouncement with a long open-mouthed kiss that stole away all of Harry’s breath and sanity and that slightest glimmer of apathy. He’d torn Harry open, ripped down his walls and didn’t even know. When he pulled back he inhaled deeply and relaxed enough to calm. A speculative look flashed through his eyes that caught Harry’s interest immediately. “What do you know about Dido Lynn Darby?”

“Almost nothing,” Harry admitted doing a mental rundown of the situation. Talented and gifted R&B and jazz singer/songwriter, decent actress if memory served, beautiful, but none of the public knowledge was what Theodore was searching for. “Why?”

“I want to know what makes her tick. I want to know why every time I speak to her she looks dazed and mildly horrified.”

“Does she?” Harry inquired softly instantly running over the bucketlist of things that could mean. The obvious question was if Theodore knew her, but he was such a fan and so entirely cold about the situation that that seemed unlikely. So why would she know of him personally enough to be affected by his presence without him having met her? “I can look into it.”

Theodore nodded and settled against Harry, resting his head on Harry’s shoulder in a position that couldn’t be comfortable but seemed to relax Theodore enough to make it through the ride. Harry ran his fingers up and down along Theodore’s spine, peering out the window as the rolling English countryside gave way to the squat houses at the periphery of Greater London. The closer they got to Hampstead Heath, the bigger the house grew, not the sort of mega mansions Harry had seen in the United States but quieter, classic homes that had been built for beauty rather efficiency and affordability.

Harry had never seen these sorts of houses from the inside before he’d dragged Theodore home completely wasted. His mother certainly had a bigger house than his father in Reading but not by altogether much. And Harry had never lived there, couldn’t bear to when he’d been seven and watching his mother start a new family with her second husband. She’d never quite forgiven that he’d preferred the tiny cottage his father had lived in over her charming terraced home in Reading.

Oscar pulled up alongside the curb outside Theodore’s charming four-story brick house on the corner with its window boxes, brick fence, and tiny balconies overlooking the street. The official line on the house was that it had been in his adoptive father, Curtis Langston’s, family for at least three generations long before the property’s worth had skyrocketed. Harry had apparently purchased it at fourteen with his own advance to keep his parents from selling it. Whether that was true or not was entirely up for debate.

“We’re here,” Oscar called out unnecessarily, Theodore already springing for the door while Harry plucked his bag out of the trunk. “Go despoil the boy before he does something crazy in front of our eyes.”

Harry didn’t answer, slipping out of the SUV and closing the door behind him. Theodore had already opened the gate, bouncing with nervous energy and traipsing up the walkway to the green front door. His hands shook as he slipped the key into the lock, opening the door, hinges creaking ominously. They needed to be oiled, Harry thought, but then the whole house needed a hearty dose of TLC. Closing the door behind him, Harry followed Theodore into the entranceway, watching as he tapped his fingers anxiously on the glossy bannister of staircase.

Without looking at Theodore, Harry set his travel bag down by the coat rack, brushing passed Theodore like he hadn’t seen him. He stripped off his blazer and peacoat, hanging them on the coat rack before kicking off his shoes. Running a hand through his hair, Harry leaned back against the wall and studied Theodore as he struggled to pull off his Uggs with trembling hands. A smile spread across his face, and he tipped his head back.

“How do you want this?”

“Is that really a question?” Theodore asked in a tone that bored on whiny, slightest hint of the accent he carefully hid bleeding through his words. He tried to run his fingers through his hair, knocking off his beanie. He swallowed, eyes darting around anxiously.

“Where do you want this?”

Theodore looked up at him, pupils already blown. “Anywhere there’s lube and condoms.”

Harry nodded his head and tugged out three foil condom packets and a sachet of lube. Theodore’s mouth fell open, fumbling to catch them when Harry tossed them over. “So…anywhere then?”

“You’re such an asshole,” Theodore said, the words sounding more like a compliment and far from reproachful in a breathy whisper. He stumbled forward into Harry, lips colliding in a messy tangle of lips, teeth, and tongues, both them too far past gone to make this anything but frantic. His hands grappled at Harry’s shirt until Harry stepped bag to tug it over his head, pressing himself back against Theodore like that scant second had been too much time not touching.

Lips still moving against each other, Harry tugged Theodore towards the stairs. Considerably more unsettled by the stairs, Theodore tripped over them while Harry pulled him up insistently, Harry’s hands dragging the shirt over Theodore’s head and off his body while Theodore funneled all his coordination in unbuttoning Harry’s pants and sliding down the zipper. His lips curved up into a smile against Harry’s hand slipping into his pants to grip him firmly.

Harry groaned, hips canting into the touch and back hitting the wall, head tipped back and chest heaving. Laughing, Theodore pressed him against the wall, kissing down his throat to suck a bruise into his neck. “Keep moving,” he whispered against Harry’s skin.

“Fuck,” Harry forced out through clenched teeth, grabbing Theodore and hauling him up the rest of the way up the spiral staircase.

They lost their pants somewhere between the landing and Theodore’s bedroom taking entirely too much time to get there between getting lost in kissing and touching and tripping over the mess of clothing left in their wake.

Theodore collapsed onto his bed, reaching to up to hook his arm around Harry’s neck and tug him down into a heated kiss. He fell back, pulling Harry down with him until Harry had him pinned down too the bed, lips moving together languidly and hands roving over their bared skin. Delicate touches turned to scratches, long and deep along his back, when Harry finally gripped Theodore’s cock.

“Okay?” Harry asked in amusement.

“Fuck,” Theodore ground, tipping back his head with a blissful smile.

“You did remember the lube, didn’t you?”

Theodore’s eyes went wide, body growing taut as a desperate look cross his face. Harry rolled his eyes, amused both by Theodore’s panic and that he actually thought Harry had expected him to hold onto it. When he pulled away, Theodore started to sit up when Harry put a hand on his chest shoving him back down on the bed with a stern look.

“Stay still, moron.”

“Fucking fuck, please don’t do this to me. Again,” Theodore added with a sulking pout.

Laughing, Harry yanked opened the drawer of the bedside table, not even remotely surprised when the only thing inside was three difference vibrators, two tubes of lube, and a collection of condoms. He tossed the lube and condom on the bed before bending down to place a soft kiss on Theodore’s lips that became heated the instant, Theodore’s mouth opened beneath Harry’s, hands reach up to anchor in his hair. “Just so you know,” Harry said, shifting to kneel between Theodore’s legs and opening the lube, “this didn’t happen the first time. Dry humping me in your kitchen is not the same as me splitting when you’re naked and obviously gagging for it.”

Theodore’s breathy laugh caught in his throat when Harry pressed the first finger into him. A smile spread across his lips as he sank into the touch, gaze holding Harry’s and back arching.

“Like you wouldn’t do that,” Theodore teased with a grin, hips rolling with the rhythm of Harry’s finger. He added a second just to punish him for the comment and received only a triumphant smile in reply.

“I would,” Harry confessed adding a third to watch the strain on Theodore’s face, the breath catching in his chest before his body relaxed, face splitting into a blissful haze. Bending down, he caught stole Theodore’s short breath from his lungs with a kiss to his open mouth, free hand fisting in his hair to tug his head back further, continuing to work him over with his fingers. The moment his gaze took in the absolute ecstasy on Theodore’s face, he was gone.

His finger brushed over Theodore’s prostate, watching him jolt like he’d been electrocuted and stifle a moan, precome dribbling from the slit of his cock. Humming thoughtfully, Harry pressed a kiss to Theodore’s neck, nipping with his teeth and feeling his shiver before biting into the curve of his shoulder in the same moment he stroked against Theodore’s prostate. His body went taut, back arching, coming between the two of them with an exhilarated but hoarse shout.

“Fuck babe,” Harry said softly, Theodore blinked dazedly, unfocused eyes landing on Harry. “Think you can come again?” With as sensitive as Theodore was and as easily overwhelmed, he understood two things all at once: Theodore’s drug habit would be very hard to kick and he could most definitely come again.

Theodore smiled lazily, “I mean I’m only twenty, and like, I need you to like…Harry come on.”

“Are you gonna say it?”

“Fucking fuck me. I’m begging you,” he breathed out in a huff, rolling his hips against Harry’s and scratching lightly down his back.

With a laugh, Harry grabbed the condom, hands visibly shaking as he resorted to tearing open the packet with his teeth. Theodore watched him without saying anything, without acknowledging how what was supposed to be a quick tryst was unraveling so spectacularly and at light speed. When he rolled the condom on, Theodore pulled him down into a kiss heated and intimate and understanding.

“You’re always begging me,” Harry admitted after a moment.

“I mean yeah,” Theodore said with a grin, accent pronounced enough that Harry knew he’d dropped the pretext entirely.

Their eyes met, expressions sobering in a single moment of uncloaked sincerity. Theodore stroked a hand over Harry’s face, a glimpse of the vulnerability that plagued him flashing over his face. Slowly, Harry nodded, carding his fingers through Theodore’s hair and prompting a shaky smile from him.

“Sometimes I want to push you to see what it will take to make you break,” Harry confessed.

Instead looking terrified by this, Theodore pursed his lips and nodded, “Sometimes I think you want to do that to everybody, but I’m the only one who outright allows you.”

“Aren’t you kind of a masochist?”

Considering this for a moment, Theodore’s tongue wet his bottom lip before he smiled shakily and admitted, “Sometimes, I poke at people’s bruises to see what will make them snap. I learned how to do it young. Hurt people so that you know when they’ll hurt you.”

“I don’t know if this end well.”

“I guess we’ll find out.” Theodore said without a single glimmer of doubt on his face.

Harry wanted to cut and run. Or, maybe more truthfully, he wanted to want to cut and run. Because he could break Theodore, and Theodore might be able to break him, and there was a very good chance that they’d break each other. Theodore was the kind of broke human that had pieced himself together with Scotch tape leaving jagged edges and gaping wounds and waiting to fall apart. And Harry was the kind of broken who’d at least had the decency to go for glue, insisting that those wounds had healed but had only ever been mended. Everyone thought that he was okay, except maybe Rosie who knew just enough not to pry but not enough to understand.

Everyone except Theodore who might not know why or how or the extent of the damage but wanted him anyway.

And maybe they could work with that.

But the moment he slid inside Theodore, Harry knew it didn’t matter anyway. He wasn’t going anywhere—couldn’t, and he doubted Theodore would let him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really tried to edit this chapter, but I have a tough time reading my own smut especially in my mother's house...someday I might even be an adult and get over it.


	11. "Friends" by Justin Bieber ft. Bloodpop

**Teddy Langston (@TM_1996)**

He lit me like a fire, sparked me ablaze, can leave a phoenix or ashes standing in the wake

 

**Text message from Theodore**

**Theodore:** I have a studio session this morning that will probably run over

**Harry:** It will definitely run over don’t lie

**Theodore:** So I’ll see you later then???

**Harry:** Rosie’s gonna think I’m cheating on her.

**Theodore:** Harrrrrrrrrrry

**Harry:** Do you have food?

**Harry:** Nvrmnd what a dumb question. I’m off work at 5. Then have to yell at Iri. So I’ll grab groceries and meet you at yours

 

**Santiago Reyes (@Santis_Rays)**

The studio’s getting crazy today #hothothot

 

**Alina Rosen (@AlinaAzadi)**

@Santis_Reyes I mean subtlety isn’t ur specialty #weknow

 

**RT by @AlinaAzadi @KimberlyLakshmi @Marley_Afwa**

**Santiago Reyes (@Santis_Rays)**

@AlinaAzadi ok, tbh whoever @MaverickOfficial is tapping has mad skills #micdrop

 

**Irial Dorian (@DorianII)**

Saw All Time Low in concert yesterday with @HaroldBSterling and had first 4th of July with @rosieposie #FuckingWeird #YouGotIndependenceFromMe #FinallySomeFuckingNormalcy

 

**Dorian done dating?**

Popular radio DJ, Irial Dorian, has had a busy four months with media scrutiny for newly reacquired partying pastimes, obvious strain on friendship with Cris Emerson after the popstar disclosed his identity on Alex Ronan's talk show day before departing, and rumors of his relationship with still anonymous long-time boyfriend falling apart. Seems like there may be some truth in that as only last night he was spotted lip-locking with supposedly straight actor, Charles Beck, at a club in Primrose Hill. As for if he broke up with boyfriend beforehand...only time will tell and we can't wait.

 

**Text message from Harry**

**Harry:** I’m just sitting here watching the world catch fire

**Harry:** How was ur day?

**Theodore:** …is this about the Irial thing?

**Harry:** You know about the Irial thing?

**Theodore:** Right now everyone one Twitter, Tumblr, and Insta know about the Irial thing

**Harry:** Motherfucking…

**Harry:** It’s fine. It’s fine. Everything’s fine.

**Harry:** It’s not fine. I have to go to Dubai so Cris and Iri can be stupid internationally.

**Theodore:** I’ll grab the popcorn

* * *

Theodore hated Harry’s apartment. Partly because he shared it with his sort of ex-girlfriend turned best friend, but mostly because it was Harry’s apartment, not that Harry spent an inordinate amount of time here. And not that wanting Harry to claim Theodore’s space like some kind of stray cat was rational less than a month into whatever this was and barely a week after they’d had sex for the first time. But he couldn’t deny even to himself that he hated the place.

It felt as coldly impersonal as all of Theodore’s homes though save, perhaps, for his teenage bedroom in his parent’s New Orleans house. His room looked like he’d moved in yesterday and expected to move out just as felt. He closet was a testament to his youth as a hipster with the clothes he actually wore shoved into the depths like he didn’t want people to know that they existed.

Theodore supposed he should feel bad about snooping, but considering Harry hadn’t hesitated to look around when Theodore had been wasted, he didn’t feel so bad about the invasion of privacy.

Weirder than the lack of personal items and the unearthly cleanliness in Harry’s room was that there were only three photographs, one of he and his friends during Halloween, one of him with his grandparents with some ancient Cocker Spaniel, and one with what looked like the staff of a restaurant gathered around for a group photo. Stepping out of Harry’s room into the rest of the house was like being in a whole different world, the living room was a messy of throw pillows and blankets, coffee table covered in magazines and a couple of mugs. The refrigerator was covered in photographs of he and Rosie, the two and Irial, Cheryl and Micah, the four of them and Breaking Fourth, Rosie and Harry with Irial and Cris, and one of Rosie with Soren Reid.

Shaking his head, Theodore ignored the desire to keep snooping around the apartment Harry barely seemed to live in. He’d dropped off what he’d come for anyway. Harry being completely mental about his electronics had had a minor freak out that he swore didn’t happen when he’d realized he’d realized he left his Bluetooth earpiece and tablet at Harry. Instead of coolly being dismissed, Harry had accepted Theodore’s offer to drop it off at Harry’s so he had it whenever he returned from Dubai.

The emergency situation that was Cris Emerson’s relationship Irial Dorian was probably the reason his management had freaked out every time they were reminded Theodore was gay. Not that he had the constitution to be that messy over someone he was seeing so publicly. In a rambling rant, Harry had explained Irial thought Cris didn’t want to come out, had ignored him while on tour, been photographed kissing Charlie Beck, another actor Theodore knew; Cris had devolved silently instead of telling Irial he was locked into a contract and responded with a panic attack after they barely diverted the train wreck of a breakup because he couldn’t let Irial out of his sight.

Theodore had started laughing while Harry had bemoaned the difficulty he had working with the pair of them. Because that level of messy wasn’t somewhere Theodore had ever approached before. Closeting wasn’t something he liked, but at the height of his career, it was something Theodore understood. That didn’t make it any easier most days, but banging on the closet door would only receive pushback that would leave him spiraling.

He wasn’t quite there yet.

Shaking his head, his eyes fell to his trembling hands. He sighed and ran his hands through his hair contemplating his chances of seeing Harry tonight. Last thing he wanted to do was let Harry witness him using. Theodore was enough all on his own on his best day. His worst days included him snorting cocaine and ending the night vomiting his intestines into a toilet, and he wanted to keep that separate from whatever he was building as long as humanly possible.

Pulling cigarettes out of his pocket, Theodore rolled one on the kitchen counter before starting towards the door, tucking the carton back in the pocket of his jeans. The weather had warmed enough for Theodore that he could forgo jackets over his t-shirts but not enough that jeans weren’t the best option possible. England tended to skate the line between ‘warm enough’ and ‘sort of hot’, which had suited him fine when he’d lived there but left much to be desire now that he’d lived in both LA and New Orleans.

Closing the door behind him, Theodore started down the stairs, pulling the Zippo lighter from his pocket.

“—death of me! Both of them! Do you think they even get that?” He heard someone exclaim from downstairs, lips twisting up when he recognized the voice. “ _I_ need Cris to come out. Not out of some misguided social justice bullshit, but because my life if too stressful with the pair of them being closeted. Who lives like this? They had an international incident over their lack of communication! And now Irial’s going _on tour_ with them! Do you know how many messes I’m going to have to—”

Harry’s words trailed off as he met Theodore on the staircase. He looked up from beneath the brim of his hat and offered a tiny, wan smile, excitement fluttering in his stomach just at seeing Harry. Tipping his head back down when Harry’s face didn’t change, Theodore swallowed his disappointment at not even being acknowledged and started around them down the stairs. A hand reached out and caught his wrist, plucking the cigarette from his fingers and examining it critically.

“It’s tobacco,” Theodore promised.

“But you need a fix, right? That’s why you’re smoking?” Harry asked lowly, his friend, not having realized he’d stopped, unlocked their door and paused to look back at Harry. Theodore pressed his lips together and refused to answer, looking away, cheeks burning with embarrassment. “You’re a mess, babe,” he surmised while Theodore nodded slowly. “Come on, you can meet crazy, and I can supervise so you don’t _do_ something crazy.”

Theodore cleared his throat uncertainly but nodded nonetheless, a slight smile slipping over his face when he looked at Harry. Sappy, absolutely sappy that he wanted to meet his friends like he was Harry’s boyfriend and a part of his life rather than his famous and closeted sexual partner.

“Yo, Potter child, who is…” She asked softly, eyes widened and mouth falling open in a startled gape when her eyes landed on him. She raised her hands slowly to cover her mouth while she began to hyperventilate. “He’s…I’m mean but that’s…what the fuck Harry!”

“I asked Theodore to drop some stuff off. Don’t pass out, Rosie.” Harry instructed her dryly. His hand slipped down Theodore’s wrist to hold his hand, guiding him up the stairs. “Teddy, this is my best friend, Rosie Ireland. Ignore her, she’s a crazy fangirl, but she’ll get over it.”

“You asked him to…” Rosie started to ask, eyebrows furrowing. Blinking at Harry in disbelief, she stood in the doorway, rocking on her heels thoughtfully. “He has a key to our apartment?”

“He doesn’t,” Harry insisted, trying to move around her, even as she held her ground. “I told him where the spare was.”

“You _told him_ where the _spare_ was.” Rosie repeated in the most weighted innuendo Theodore had ever heard about keys. Theodore leaned around Harry, peering over his shoulder at Rosie who looked startled every time she laid eyes on him and had to shake her head and look away hastily. She was pretty and sharp-tongued, her attitude entirely suited to Harry’s lifestyle. Theodore couldn’t imagine she held back much from what she thought. She stood in the door with in a floral print knee-high kaftan and a big straw hat somehow managing to look like Attila the Hun.

Harry nodded slowly, reaching out slowly to pluck her hand from the doorframe and guide her inside, tugging Theodore to follow behind. “I told him where the spare was. You don’t have to make it sound so sordid. I didn’t send him in to steal the good silver. Relax. It’s not like he’s going to rob us.”

“I don’t know that Game of Thrones mug is popping,” Theodore remarked finding his footing and pushing through both of them to stalk inside.

“You little sneak,” Harry snapped, staying close on his heels while Rosie followed behind more sedately, caught completely unawares. Theodore settled cross-legged on the sofa while Harry opened up the drawer in the kitchen, tossing Theodore a small tin. He caught it despite the tremors in his hands while Rosie sat gingerly on the other side of the sofa, eyeing the tin with fascination that shifted to Harry. “Use that for now,” Harry said, “it’ll take the edge off. I’ll make you a cheese toastie and some Lucozade because you need things to keep you up without being, you know.”

Theodore nodded, opening the tin and not even remotely surprised to find blunts inside.

Rosie raised a hand, “I don’t understand.”

“That’s fine,” Harry said with a smile, watching as Theodore pulled out a spliff and set the tin aside. When he lit the end, Harry nodded went to the fridge, pulling out a bottle of Lucozade and tossing it towards Theodore who caught it narrowly. He smiled and Harry rolled his eyes. “How was the studio?”

“How well do you two know each other?” Rosie inserted in complete and utter disbelief.

Theodore took a long hit of the blunt, filling his lungs and feel some of the anxiety in him subside. It didn’t entirely decrease the hunger in him, but it took the edge of just enough that Theodore felt like he could breath. Shrugging his shoulders, Theodore kicked off his shoes and tilted his head back on the couch. “Studio sessions always go great. And I like working with Santi, he’s got these wild ideas to make the backbeats and hooks more complex. The only snag is that I’m going to have to take ‘Promises, Promises’ off the album. I mean, the studio will fight me, but it’s not a huge deal.”

“I love that song,” Rosie sighed while Theodore smiled lazily, offering her the blunt. With a long glare, she accepted his metaphorical olive branch, taking a hit before handing it back. “Can I have a toastie?”

“Do I look like a servant?” Harry volleyed without the slightest concern. She grinned like he’d said yes, settling more comfortably against the cushions. His attention returned to Theodore who basked in it even while high. “And the studio’s going to be alright with that? Didn’t you sign and agreement with them?”

Theodore shrugged lazily. He’d already emailed them about it and already received backlash over the material. It hardly mattered. When it came to publicity, Theodore couldn’t win, but he was enough of a musical cash cow that the last thing the studio would do was hamper his creative impulses. They knew better. “We’ll argue. In the end they’ll make it a single. I agreed when this album was going an entirely different direction than it currently is.”

“What’s the timeline looking like on that?”

Rosie rolled her eyes and snagged the blunt from Theodore’s fingers, taking another hit while gazing up at Theodore. “Harry doesn’t know how to shut professional off. Are you screwing him? I feel so bad for you. He’s so insensitive. Relationship fail all the way around,” she told Theodore in a conspiratorial whisper.

“Rosie, I’ll kill you!”

Theodore laughed but shook his head. Harry was diligent enough about his work that his slip into professionalism didn’t bother him so much as make him implode with giddiness. If Harry really didn’t care, he just wouldn’t have asked. His taking an interest in whatever tone he used was him _taking an interest_ , because what Theodore doubted Harry ever actually did was feign interest in things he cared nothing about.

“At this rate? I’ll finish recording by the end of next month provided Carter Skeet gets his ass together and actually shows up on time for our sessions. Clean it up in editing throughout August. I don’t want to stress myself or Santiago out so we’re probably looking at mid-December release. Then they’re gonna want to tour with it so we’re probably looking at April for that to start.”

Harry nodded, picking up two plates and walking into the living room. He set the two toasties down on the table, Rosie and Theodore lunging for them immediately. Propping his feet up on the edge of the coffee table, he regarding Theodore closely. “You work fast.”

Theodore shrugged, “Me and Santiago work well together. Besides I’m a fast writer and composer. The lyrics come slower, but still not as slow as people probably expect.”

Rosie nodded, “Very talented.” She took a bite out of the toastie and chewed with a blissful sigh while Theodore turned his puppy dog eyes on Harry.

Rolling his eyes, Harry pretended not to notice as Theodore scooted closer to rest against Harry’s side. At least, until he snagged the blunt from his fingertips and flicked the ashes into the ashtray, shifting the plate onto his lap until Theodore had gotten comfortable and fell still. Theodore pulled off his hat and tossed it onto the table before reclaiming the blunt with a kiss to the corner of Harry’s lips. He rested his hand on Theodore’s thigh while Theodore shivered and offered the rest of the blunt to Rosie.

“You’re going to have to do it in front of me, you know,” Harry told Theodore in a whisper, nosing at the curve of his ear. Theodore bit pursed his lips and shook his head while Harry cupped his neck in one hand. “You are. You can’t quit cocaine cold turkey, and even if you could, you’re not ready to. The last thing either of us needs is for you to go into cardiac arrest and have me bring you to A&E at three in the morning. That’d be fun to explain.”

Theodore pouted and snuggled closer to Harry, twisting his to press their lips together. Harry stopped him, pressing his thumb against the lovebite he’d left on the curve of Harry’s neck.   Prompting a moan, head tipping back and hips canting up as his breath caught. “I can, I can quit,” Theodore breath out.

“You can’t,” Harry corrected him knowingly. “Because you don’t want to, and as long as you don’t want to quit there’s nothing I can do to help you except make sure you don’t wind up front page news or in someone else’s bed. You want to end up like Lindsay Lohan, that’s your decision, but we’re gonna handle this like adults. And you need complete supervision when you get high, end of discussion. You’re not going to be stumbling around Piccadilly because you’re too ashamed to use in front of me.”

“I can quit,” Theodore promised stubbornly.

Harry stroked his hand along Theodore’s neck, bending his head to suck another lovebite beneath the curve of Theodore’s jaw. “I’m sure we’ll get there,” Harry agreed noncommittally.

“Can ya’ll not,” Rosie complained, reaching over to the coffee table to fish the remote out from beneath the pile of magazines.

The door opened as she started flipping through stations eventually settling on the EastEnders marathon so she could yell at the television. Theodore nibbled on the toastie and frowned at the ongoing EastEnders drama. This particular soap opera had never been his cuppa. He preferred Big Brother, Hollyoaks, and Strictly Come Dancing, in that order. EastEnders, though, was a British cultural phenomenon.

A girl stalked into the room with bright red hair teased up and tied back at the base of his neck. Her skin was deeply spray tanned, dark eyes heavily made up with dark eyeliner, eye shadow, and volumizing mascara. Her lipstick and blush was as dark as her eye makeup. Her leather skirt was short and paired with a skimpy racerback lace halter-top. She tossed her purse onto the television stand and crossed her arms over her chest, raising her eyebrows. He knew who she was by reputation alone, and from Harry’s stories, which didn’t do the striking Cheryl Atterberry any justice.

“Is that _my_ weed?”

“I don’t have any,” was Harry’s only response, shrugging her shoulders dismissively. He took a bite of the toastie Theodore offered him, eyebrows furrowing at the drama onscreen. Theodore leaned around him to wave happily at Cheryl. She paused and narrowed her eyes, studying him like he was a phantom she vaguely remembered but couldn’t quite place, which he supposed might be the truth. They’d never met but he was certainly recognizable.

“That’s kinda my point, Potter. You don’t smoke,” Cheryl intoned.

Theodore side-eyed Harry, not sure he believed that in any of its many incarnations. Harry liked to seem incredibly aboveboard at any turn, but even if he didn’t smoke regularly and even if he didn’t smoke marijuana now, Harry certainly did smoke. Harry nodded, stroking a hand over Theodore’s hair.

“It was either your weed or cocaine.”

Cheryl’s eyebrows rose, and she nodded her head in agreement. “Enjoy the weed,” she said, starting towards the kitchen before halting abruptly. She pointed a finger at Theodore whose only response was to grin at her delightedly. “But…aren’t you…he can’t be. He’s not,” she told herself more firmly, shaking her head. Waving a hand, Cheryl smiled apologetically at Theodore. “I’m having a weird day. My bad. Has anyone ever told you that you look just like Maverick?”

Harry rolled his eyes while Theodore grinned, “I’ve gotten that a couple times, yeah.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm late. I apologize but I was so sick yesterday I couldn't even watch Live PD T.T


	12. "Personal" by The Vamps ft. Maggie Lindemann

**Maverick (@MaverickOfficial)**

It’s like Christmas came earlier @Marley_Afwa is here!!!

 

**Marley Afwa (@Marley_Afwa)**

Should we smash it? (Like clubs not like the sexual anything)

 

**Maverick takes the town**

Maverick’s been surprisingly quiet since his three-woman party in Los Angeles a month ago and announcing he’d be recording his upcoming album in London. Apparently that’s all over now, the popstar was spotted partying at Club Deccord with rumored girlfriend and model, Marley Afwa, DJ, Carter Skeet, three members of Scarlet Letters, several _Ethereal_ cast members, and at least a dozen Premier League footie players. Though he didn’t appear to be going home with anyone when he stumbled out of the club at three in the morning, no one’s discounting the possibility of him and the gorgeous supermodel. We certainly wouldn’t mind seeing more of Marley and Maverick being adorable together.

 

To: adelaide.johanna@dissidentmanagent.com

From: sterling.harry@dissidentmanagement.com

Subject: Private Doctors

Johanna,

I need to know if you know any doctors that could help with managing cocaine addiction that could do home visits and knows how to be discreet.

Best,

Harry

 

**Cherrie Taylor (@Cherrie_TA)**

Ok but not I’m sincerely convinced the guy I met was @MaverickOfficial

 

**Maverick (@MaverickOfficial)**

@Cherrie_TA ok but it only took you weeks to figure that out…

 

To: sterling.harry@dissidentmanagement.com

From: adelaide.johanna@dissidentmanagement.com

Subject: RE: Private Doctors

Harry,

I’m curious. I want to know what exactly this is about.

His name’s Graham Remington out of an office in Marylebone.

Also, why is my assistant looking into Dido Lynn Darby?

Johanna

 

**Text message from Harry**

**Harry:** Are you performing at the TCAs?

**Teddy:** I did in fact agree to that.

**Teddy:** Why are you asking?

**Harry:** Tlk about it later.

* * *

“Are you sure?” Johanna asked for about the fifth time since they’d left the office for the coffee nightcap before hopping on the train. She leaned against the counter, watching Harry carefully. He checked the watch he’d stolen from Theodore’s veritable and impressive watch collection.

“Can I have a venti black coffee and a grande caramel frappuccino.”

Johanna startled, looking at him sideways as he handed over his debit card. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“It’s not for me, and if I wasn’t sure I wouldn’t have offered. It’s not like I don’t deserve two weeks in the sun and surf of California for what Cris and Irial make me put up with,” Harry told her, inserting the card back into his wallet. She narrowed her eyes on his thoughtfully while he shook his head. He was getting those kinds of looks more and more often now. Now that he did things to make Theodore happy, which apparently was wildly outside his wheelhouse.

“I’m not arguing with that,” Johanna finally stuttered out after a moment.

Harry nodded his head and decided to sidestep her obvious inquisition. “How’s Nathaniel?”

In an instant, Johanna went form hardass to melted chocolate.

Her and Nathaniel were an interesting match. Harry had met him at every company dinner and the December holiday party. They’d been together on and off since uni according the gossip her assistant spread. He was bulky Northerner with a bushy beard, dark hair, and freckles with a fetish for flannel and khakis. He was the calm to her storm, a primary school teacher with a daughter from brief relationship he’d been in when they were ‘off.’ And despite her vehement protestations, Johanna loved him fiercely.

“Well,” Johanna hedged, “he met my parents, finally.”

“It’s been ten years.”

“Yeah, but we weren’t serious and then his ex-girlfriend got knocked up, and I really doubted my parents would approve so…we just kept putting it off.” Johanna explained with an uneasy huff of laughter. That sounded like it hadn’t gone good at all. Harry and Theodore hadn’t been doing this thing for even six months, but whenever Harry decided to introduce him to his father and grandparents, they’d adore him. At least partly because Theodore was a manipulative little shit who could charm like a sociopath. “My parents think he’s too provincial.”

“Aren’t _they_ teachers?” Harry asked in disbelief, thanking the barista as he collected the two drinks.

They started for the door, and Johanna nodded sadly.

“They’re _professors_. Tenured professors, and Nate’s a primary school teacher so naturally they think I can do so much better,” Johanna stated, rolling her eyes. She leaned closer to him and muttered, “And then he dropped the bomb about his daughter, Christina. Dad about had a heart attack, and Angelica outright asked me if I didn’t think I was slumming it. Right there, in front of him! I was horrified. I was _horrified_. These are people who consider themselves educated. Why would you even ask that?” She paused and looked over at him slyly. “Have your parents met whoever it is you’re dating yet?”

“It’s barely been four months.”

“That’s a long time for a young’un like you, Harold,” Johanna teased mercilessly. “And what’s with this doctor thing? Is that for one of our clients? And what about this Dido Lynn Darby excursion.”

“Wow,” Harry cut her off swiftly, diverging down a side road away from the train station and into Saint Giles rather than towards the Leicester Square Station. “Look at the time, I have to go.”

“You go see your girlfriend!” Harry waved at Johanna without looking back. “Boyfriend?” He kept walking, lips curving up at the sound of her frustrated huff.

The studio Santiago Reyes worked out of looked like a typical Central London townhouse on the outside. Faceless, anonymous from the rest of the brick row that it was embedded into. The window boxes full of springtime daisies were immaculate, the gate to the pathway cracked open. A tabby cat sat on the steps leading up to the door licking its paw and hissing when Harry got too close. He offered his hand, and the cat took a sensitive sniff before rubbing against him, ultimately unconcerned with him being a stranger.

With a last full-body stroke, Harry started up the stairs. The placard beside the door demarcating the building as Red Ring Records, an imprint of Theodore’s record label in the UK. Harry rang the bell, and the door opened with a beep. He stepped inside where a security officer behind the reception desk took his ID with a terse nod and had him sign his name in a ledger. He directed Harry to the stairs leading to the basement.

The door at the bottom of the stairs was closed but opened with a swift turn of the knob, Harry carefully balancing the two coffees in his hand. Harry grimaced and stepped inside peering around as he closed the door softly behind him with his elbow. The lighting was dim and the room long with the vocal booth at one end outside the mixing room. One long table sat in front of the window was the long table with the control board laid out. The secondary table was obviously the kiddie table for nonprofessional where Rory lay sprawled out with a crinkled Pret-A-Manger bag in her hand.

At the work station a heavily tattooed Spanish man sat cross-legged in the chair in a baggy gray sweatshirt and a backwards snapback, talking a rapid fire combination of Spanish and English to the dark-skinned man lounging in the chair beside him, head bobbing lightly to the music pouring out of the studio monitors. Harry recognized the man almost instantly have signed with Dissident after his short-lived career as a part of an X-Factor hip-hop group; Dali Crusoe had a much more successful solo career than he had in a group.

Crossing his arms over his chest, he rested Theodore’s sugary concoction beside Rory’s slumbering figure, leaning back against the table and crossing his arms over his chest. He stared at Harry through the mirror looking unusually relaxed, barefoot in long ripped blue jean, a soft gray hoodie that absolutely belonged to Harry, and a beanie pulled low over his hair. Logically Harry had always known that Theodore was a powerful and incredibly talented singer, but knowing that objectively wasn’t the same as totally watching Theodore lose himself in the music he was singing. He’d always been a born performer, but it was entirely different in the studio, a level and depth he’d never allow himself to touch while in front of so many people with the power to reject him.

He tipped his head back and closed his eyes, head lolling on his shoulders as he drowned himself in Theodore’s voice if not the lyrics that he wasn’t ready to internalize yet.

The door opened a moment later, and Harry barely had a moment to open his eyes before Theodore slipped out and beamed at him.   He started forward, then halted abruptly, eyes darting to Santiago and Dali uncertainly but he kept smiling nonetheless.

“You’re here.”

“I am,” Harry said blandly, taking a sip of his coffee and offering Theodore the sweating plastic Starbucks cup. He beamed and held out his hands eagerly. “That’s disgusting.”

“We can’t all be bitter and tasteless like you,” Theodore retorted, turning to the two men watching their interaction with barely unconcealed fascination. “Santi, Dali, this is my best friend Harry Benton-Sterling. Harry, this is my producer Santiago Reyes, and you probably at least know who Dali is in passing.”

“Look at you,” Harry deadpanned, “so smart. Who would have guessed?”

Theodore flushed and shook his head, looking over at Santiago and Dali both of whom seemed absolutely enthralled by their byplay. To be fair, Theodore’s circle of friends seemed to amount to Alina Rosen and maybe Marley Afwa, and all of his interactions with them seemed to be viewed through this lens of are-they/aren’t-they that made Theodore leery of introducing them to other people. Seeing Theodore with someone other than colleagues and staff was most likely an exceedingly rare occurrence.

Grinning, Theodore chewed on the end of the straw and hoisted himself up to sit on the ledge of the table close enough to Harry that feel his heat but with enough distance to remain inconspicuous. “How was it, then?” Theodore asked Santiago, sipping his frappuccino delightedly.

“You know you’re always terrible, Mav,” Dali inserted with a bright smile. “Why would you even ask?”

“Says the man who forgot his verses five minutes after he wrote them. How old are you again? Because early onset Alzheimer’s doesn’t start until like the mid forties,” Theodore lamented with a droll stare at Dali.

Flipping him off while laughing, Dali turned in the chair and raised his eyebrows at Santiago. “Yeah, so how was it Santi?”

“I mean you know it was good, Mav, or you would have kept us in the studio another hour until you got it perfect,” Santiago drawled not sounding particularly upset by the assertion. That much Harry could relate to. It was always better to work with people that took pride in what they did and wanted more than anything to succeed than people willing to do the least amount of work possible and thought that ‘not a mess’ was a good enough predilection. “I mean, sorry Dali, I don’t think we need you anymore.”

“Ouch, I’ve been used.”

“Always,” Maverick agreed with a smile, handing Harry his horrifying beverage to stand up and hug the man.

“I’ll be calling you soon about featuring on my album, got me?”

“I’ll wait with bated breath,” Maverick teased.

Dali laughed and smacked Santiago lightly on the shoulder in the most nonverbal alpha male goodbye Harry had ever seen. “You do that, Mav. Harry Benton-Sterling, I’m sure I’ll be hearing from you soon.”

“Yeah,” Harry agreed, “I already got forwarded the file about how you apparently leaked nude photos of your baby mama online after she accused you of domestic violence in the press.”

“All of that is bullshit,” Dali promised.

“We’ll see,” Harry said calmly, though he’d need more proof before choosing to believe him. Still from everything Harry had read, it seemed more likely that his ex had lost her mind after being cheated on with a group and replaced with an Indonesian Victoria’s Secret model less than a month later. The nude photos would require a forensic computer technician, but Harry felt pretty confident he could point those back to her too long before her psycho social justice attorney tried to rain the fires of hell on Dali.

He might be a dog, but he wasn’t demeaning.

Santiago whistled but didn’t interject, eyes returning to Theodore. “Are we doing any more collabs or is this just you and me in studio the next couple weeks.”

Theodore shook his head. “I have to go to LA for the Teen Choice Awards, and I’ll just stay there instead of coming back before the MTV Music Awards. You have all the files for the rest of the songs. You can talk to Carter Skeet while I’m gone, see if you can get him to mix the track while I’m gone so when I come back the three of us can lay down vocals before he disappears into the ether but otherwise it’s not a big deal. However you want to handle this.”

Nodding to himself, Santiago beat his fist against his thigh. “Yeah, I’ll reach out to Skeet again, but otherwise I’ll get the tracks polished and email them to the studio. We can still make your anal retentive schedule.”

“I’m the best musician you’ve ever worked with,” Theodore said flatly.

“I never said you weren’t,” Santiago said, looking between Theodore and Harry. His eyebrows rose, and he got to his feet. Walking over he slapped Rory’s foot hard enough to startle her awake, and she sat up blearily, rubbing the sleep from her eyes and looking around. “Sleeping Beauty and I will go grab coffees since obviously our needs were forgotten. We gonna try to finish ‘Demons on my Shoulder’ when I get back?”

Theodore nodded, “Might as well.”

Santiago nodded and hauled Rory out of the room, closing the door firmly behind him, the gesture entirely unsubtle.

Harry turned him, eyebrows rising but whatever he might have said was interrupted by Theodore’s lips descending on his. He had a moment of remaining still before Theodore’s tongue swept into his mouth, twining with his and dirtying the already heated kiss instantly. Shoving aside their coffees, Harry scooted back and hauled Theodore up onto the table to straddle him. He anchored one hand in Theodore’s hair yanking it hard enough that he hissed and rolled his hips against Harry’s, erection already tenting the front of his jeans. Hands trembling, Theodore stripped Harry of his blazer expertly unbuttoning the Dolce & Gabbana leopard detailing shirt he’d lifted from Theodore’s closet.

His hands moved almost reverently over Harry’s skin, leaving trails of goosepimples in the wake of the soft touch and brushing gently over Harry’s ill-begotten tattoo of the Benton Pub’s Lamb and Lion crest on his hip. Of all the poorly conceived places they could and did have sex in, Harry was not going to let a recording studio be one of them, but Theodore was insatiable and Harry didn’t really have the fortitude to reject him anyway.

“Absolutely no sex,” Harry told him plainly.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Theodore said, his Londoner’s accent bleeding through in his frustration. He’d ceased putting on airs around Harry exclusively, but in public he rarely dropped the adopted American accent. “Why do you always do this to me?”

“Why do you always put us into crazy ass sexual situations in public? We are not Cris and Iri.”

“Fucking hell no we’re not,” Theodore said coldly.

Harry couldn’t help but laugh having heard his vociferous disapproval over the way Irial and Cris handled their affairs.

Still, even as he said no to the sex, his hands were at Theodore’s waistband unbuttoning his jeans and yanking down the zipper to get a hand around his cock. Theodore’s back arched with a wicked, triumphant smile that said he thought he’d won. Harry glared at him, infuriated by his lack of underwear. One day that would hit the press, and it would be Harry getting that phone call when someone spilled to his management how fond Harry was of Theodore. Theodore rocked into his hand with a blissful smile and a melodic hum.

“Is underwear too much of a problem?”

Theodore bit his bottom lip and hooked an arm around Harry’s neck, thrusts speeding up. “I want to get my dick pierced.”

Harry rolled his eyes but also didn’t disbelief his completely wild statement. That was some shit Theodore would do. He was so turned on by riding that edge of pain during sex that Harry was a little surprised he didn’t already have one. Still, he said, “If you need to be punished during sex that bad I could always spank you Christian Gray style.”

He grimaced, “I’m serious, Harold.”

“I know, babe,” Harry replied shaking his head and drawing Theodore into another long, heated kiss.

“What were you going to tell me earlier?” Harry frowned, nipping at Theodore’s neck hard enough that his breath caught, hips stuttering. Theodore whined insistently, hips rocking faster, sweat beading on his forehead as he desperately chased his orgasm. “About the awards. Harry, please, come on.”

Harry nodded returning to devour Theodore lips as he quivered and shook apart in Harry’s lap. He bit Theodore’s bottom lip, enticing a moan out of him before sweeping in to claim his mouth, stealing the breath from his lungs. His hand tightened in Theodore’s hair, and Theodore melted head thrown back and body rocking like he’d been possessed. “I’m going to LA. For both award shows. I’m the running point for Dissident’s publicity while we’re there.”

Theodore’s eyes open, pupils blown, completely out of his mind with lust and delight. He grinned, a lazy, languid smile and leaned forward to kiss Harry.

“Baby, Harry, I need to come,” Theodore whispered desperately in his ear.

Harry nodded and maneuvered Theodore off of his lap over his objections, setting him carefully back on his feet and waiting until he was steady before he slid off the table and turned Theodore around. He guided his hands to the ledge of the table and held Theodore’s glazed eyes as he sank to his knees in front of them. Theodore blinked in disbelief watching Harry without breathing. “We shouldn’t make a mess, Teddy,” he said, and Theodore only managed to force out a grunt before Harry’s mouth was on his cock.


	13. "Hard to Love" by Calvin Harris ft. Jessie Reyez

**Text message from Marley**

**Marley:** I expect to see you in LALALAND baby XD

**Maverick:** Doable, it’s doable…

**Marley:** Did you bring the bae?

**Maverick:** Literally no comment

 

**Maverick (@MaverickOfficial)**

Back in sunny LA…and it’s raining #londonfollowedme

 

**Harry Benton-Sterling (@HaroldBSterling)**

I can’t drive so frankly LA…little bit of a drag.

 

**Triple threat Maverick takes over the TCAs**

It’s never been a secret Maverick’s multitalented; it’s also never been a secret that his extremely vocal fans are some of the best out there. The twenty-year-old sensation walked away with an incredible seven Teen Choice Awards, eight if we’re counting the one given to his fandom with three for his role in 2015 drama, _Where All Roads Lead_ , Choice Music: Male Artist, Choice Music Single: Male Artist for ‘Promises, Promises’, Choice Music: Break-Up Song for ‘Gotta Hit Harder’, and Choice Hottie: Male. He also awed audiences by performing his bittersweet pop-punk love ballad, ‘It Even Hurts Here.’ The popstar offered a tearful thanks to his incredible fans (who apparently are quite incredible and unbelievably dedicated) and later skipped the after party to reportedly go bowling with his date, Marley Afwa. No surprise he continues to top charts and steal the hearts of his fans, but we can’t help but keep hoping he finally gives up the goods on his relationship with Marley Afwa.

 

To: preston.duke@godreygroup.com

Cc: lysa.thomas@godfreygroup.com; rory.tannen@godfreygroup.com

Bcc: sterling.harry@dissidentmanagement.com

From: teddymaverick96@gmail.com

Subject: RE: Elena Valence and other news

Out of curiosity, Preston, was it necessary to send me an incredibly scathing email about my appointments while I’m in Los Angeles? I know you think that I just hang out, snort coke, and screw but we both know I take my music very seriously. Of course I know that I’m going out to Palm Springs to shoot that music video with her. And of course I know that I have a shoot for Calvin Klein. What I absolutely do not need is your attitude and erroneous assumption that I have no idea what’s going on. Next time you have comments, direct them to Rory so I don’t have to hear your bullshit.

Maverick

 

**Elena Valence (@e_valence1997)**

Chilling poolside with the bae @MaverickOfficial

 

**Maverick (@MaverickOfficial)**

@e_valence1997 describe ‘chilling poolside’ cuz it doesn’t usually involve being yelled at by directors, right? :/

* * *

“You know the problem I’m having with you Irial?”

“No,” he said, voice tinny through the phone but no less defiant or stubborn, “but I’m sure you’ll tell me.”

“The drag clubs and BoysTown and seemingly endless piles of shit that you heap on me. I have a life,” Harry said in time with a particularly brutal thrust of his hips. Theodore, flushed, sweating, and dazed, moaned, and Harry moved his hand from pinning his wrists to the sofa to covering his mouth without missing a beat. “I do not want to spend my life cleaning up after you and Cris Emerson, obviously. It’s great you’re both madly in love again after spending three months being complete and total morons, but could you stop be quite so obvious. _All_ the time. _Everywhere._ ”

Hands free, Theodore shifted them to his weeping erection. Harry bit back a curse and caught his hands before they made contact shaking his head while Theodore bit his bottom lip to stifle a groan of irritation. Harry didn’t feel bad in the slightest. Theodore had not only insisted on actually getting his dick pierced, he’d ultimately decided on an ampallang, gauge bar going vertically just behind the head of his penis. They’d been ordered to abstain from sex for six weeks, full healing time somewhere between four to six months. Theodore had lasted a week before insisting it was either sex or an unnecessary hit of cocaine.

Harry had caved, but not enough that he’d allowed Theodore to jerk himself off.

“So I can’t go out with my boyfriend because someone _might_ see?” Irial shouted angrily, voice cracking from the force of his ire.

“Of course you can,” Harry exclaimed, unable to hide his annoyance with this whole situation or how close he was to coming. “But you can’t ever just _not_ be seen. You two go to the most highly visible places and practically screw in front of the neighbors. I mean, get a grip Irial!”

Harry tucked the phone into his back pocket, not needing or caring to hear Irial’s immediate reply to the chastisement. He bent down, pressing bruises into Theodore’s wrists, biting into the curvature of his shoulder, and running his fingers delicately over his engorged cock as he thrust inside him. Theodore came with an exquisite shout while Harry panting, emptying himself into the condom and blinked down at Theodore dazed. He went limp, and Harry laughed quietly, shifting back and pulling out gently.

Stripping off the condom, Harry tied it and tossed it into the rubbish bin across the room, leaning down to place a kiss against Theodore’s lips as he stretched languorously, unashamedly nude and smile absolutely blissful. What it must be like to be Theodore who was so overly sensitive to anything. He tugged gently at the nipple piercings, drawing another moan from Theodore before kissing him again and hopping off the sofa to walk to the open patio door that led out into the backyard and overlooked the tiered garden between the house and the fence.

“Are you even listening to me? Were you having sex while on the phone with me? With _who_? Does Rosie know? Potter!” Irial called, voice shrilly.

Harry rolled his eyes and sighed, tucking himself back into his pants and zipping up. “Listen, Iri. It’s not that hard to go on dates without being seen.”

“And how would you know?” Irial shot back coldly.

“You and Cris just aren’t good at it because you don’t want to be.” Harry continued as if he hadn’t heard the question.

Not that it wasn’t a completely valid question, but Harry was not about to tell Irial he was having sex with one of the biggest closeted popstars since Elton John pre-1976. Irial had a big mouth and a penchant for social justice campaigns and his ‘why can’t we all come out and be who we are’ was a big reason he and Cris were incapable of discretion. That wasn’t to say Harry didn’t have a plan, and that wasn’t to say Cris’s coming out would ruin Breaking Fourth, but Cris was a white indie boybander whose solo music would probably consist of some indie/punk-rock vibes. A whole different world than Theodore’s pop/hip-hop/R&B vibes that occasionally crossed over into other genres.

Coming out in his youth wouldn’t have been a possibility, and right now coming out for him at all was social suicide.

Harry would wait and watch and plan. That’s what he did best anyway.

As it was, he and Theodore managed to go out just fine without causing the internet to implode. Since coming to LA, they’d gone to a couple VIP clubs, a few discreet restaurants, and even the movies to see _Star Trek: Beyond_ like the complete nerd Theodore was. There was no reason for Tumblr to have a list of all the places Cris and Irial had gone together while on tour when Theodore’s fans were still debating whether he was dating Elena Valence or Marley Afwa. Irial’s attempts at discretion were utterly absurd.

“Would you want to be? Would you want to be in love and forced to hide all the time?” Irial asked, words more sulky than melancholy, which allowed Harry enough embittered distance not to feel bad for his friend.

Harry sighed, “My world doesn’t work like that.”

That was also true. Harry’s world existed in shades of gray instead of the black and white boxes Irial fit himself in. Some things couldn’t be done no matter how much he wanted them to. The extent to which he cared about coming out boiled down to the gut-deep certainty that when Theodore realized he had to get his life together, purging those lies would come down to telling the whole and complete truth. That meant being honest about who he was. Until then, Harry could exist in the shadows; that was the place he’d chosen to live regardless.

“How lucky for you,” Irial said bitterly.

Whiny, sulky Irial.

A movement inside caught Harry’s attention, and he turned as Theodore shifted to sit up, tugging the fleece blanket from the back of the sofa half over his body. Harry started towards him, swiping the Bluetooth headset from table beside the door and tucking it into his ear. He dropped his phone on the coffee table and sat down beside it, helping Theodore settle the blanket across his hips while Theodore smiled up at him lazily. Harry ran a hand over his hair.

“You okay?”

“No I’m not okay!” Irial screamed into his ear.

“Irial, we both know I would never talk to you in that tone of voice, pipe down. Babe?” Harry insisted, shifting his attention back to Theodore who smiled up at him softly.

Theodore twisted his neck to press a kiss to Harry’s arm, nipping the skin and grinning impishly. “I mean, I’d be better if you fed me.”

“I’m working on it. Also you have like twenty minutes before the hordes of hell descend to make you pretty.”

Ordinarily, that would get Theodore up and moving since that included both his publicist and manager who’d roped him into attending a movie premiere with Marley before he flew out to New York for the MTA Video Music Awards. And yet he shrugged his shoulders and continued lying sprawled and prone across the couch, eyebrows furrowed as he stared up at the ceiling like he was looking for the meaning of life. Abruptly, his eyes slid over to Harry and lingered there uncertainly.

“I need my guitar. And a Sharpie.”

And instead of asking questions like a normal person, Harry nodded like this all made sense.

“Harry!!!” Irial shouted over the phone as Harry got up and snagged the acoustic guitar from the reception room and a Sharpie from the drawer in the kitchen. “Who are you sleeping with? This is now way more important than my drama. Hello! Does Rosie know? Are you cheating on Rosie?”

“I would never cheat on Rosie, Irial,” Harry said in answer, returning to living room and to hand Theodore what he’d asked for while moving to stand by the window again. “Listen Irial we’re not gonna talk about me, because I know what the hell I’m doing. Because I don’t drag the entire world into my drama with me. Handle your shit with Cris or I’ll handle it for you. Great, so you want to come out, and Cris thinks he’ll have panic attacks if you’re not in his sightlines 24/7. I’ll risk it. Don’t make anymore headlines that I have to mop up or I’ll separate the two of you.”

Irial was silent for a moment, and Harry waited for his ‘et tu brute’ moment patiently.

“You’re turning into them,” Irial spat.

He supposed Irial would just have to go on believing that. Coming out never went well when it was messy and loud, but no one seemed to understand that like he did. “Let’s not have this conversation again,” he said by way of goodbye, plucking the headset out of his ear and tossing it onto the coffee table. He ran a hand through his hair and looked back at Theodore, plucking the strings of his guitar and singing under his breath, hurriedly jotting lyrics down on his arm.

“Does Irial think you’re Satan?” Theodore asked without looking up, bemused by the whole thing.

“Of course,” Harry confessed with a sigh.

Theodore glanced up at him with a smile, still writing against his arm. “He’ll get over it. You mean well, your delivery just sucks.”

“See if I fuck you ever again.”

The doorbell rang over Theodore laughter and he waved a hand dismissively, “Go fetch my food, asshole.”

Harry laughed and started across the hallway to the entrance, the music from Theodore’s guitar and his quiet humming drifting over from the living room. He opened the door without checking to see who it was and without bothering to put on a shirt and froze when he saw who was actually outside: not a teenager with Chinese takeaway but a mob of people. He recognized Rory Tannen chatting amicably with Washington. Claire Hervaux clutched her bag of hair tools while her sister Marceline argued on the phone with someone, garment bags thrown over her arm. Preston Duke didn’t look any less like an asshole from the last time Harry had seen him, and Lysa Thomas, PR agent extraordinaire, looked irritated to be there, graying blonde hair twisted up in a ponytail and her dark blue eyes behind rectangular rims.

“You’re not Kung Pao Chicken.”

“That’s me!” A voice said weakly from the back of the horde, raising a hand and hopping on the balls of his feet.

“And who is this?” Lysa Thomas demanded.

Harry offered her a droll look and a cruel smile. “The guy answering the door.” Lysa sneered, and Harry shook his head and called out, “Teddy, your posse’s here!”

“Wait! I need pants!” He called back, music dying off abruptly only to be followed by a pointed thump.

Preston huffed and shoved Harry aside, leading the pack into the house. Lysa tossed him a glare as she followed, the rest of his crew was considerably politer, nodding at him in greeting as they followed the leader into the house with wariness.

When the only person left behind was the delivery boy with his plastic bag, an uncertain expression, and trepidation, Harry smiled. The delivery boy didn’t seem convinced. He swallowed and lifted the receipt. “Four egg rolls, sweat and sour chicken, kung pao chicken, egg fried rice, and fortune cookies?”

“I’m sorry,” Harry said genuinely, waving a hand in the general direction the circus of people had disappeared to. “That’s me.”

“It’s okay,” he stuttered since it obviously wasn’t.

Harry sighed and exchanged the bag for a twenty dollar tip on top of the one he’d already paid through Seamless. It seemed fair after terrifying the poor boy. When the kid seemed less likely to collapse into a puddle of feelings, Harry shut the door and ventured inside the house where he could hear the volume increasing by the second. By the time he made it back to the kitchen, Theodore had already been accosted, pouting when Claire and Marceline went back and forth about how casual too casual was for a movie premiere.

Theodore shot Harry a desperate look, but he only laughed beneath his breath, shook his head, and set the food down on the coffee table between three boxes of designer shoes and Claire’s bag of hairstyling tools.

“Ooh,” Rory declared happily, “they got food.”

She reached for the bag only for Theodore to smack her hand away with a fierce glare.

Preston Duke lounged in the recliner like a king while Lysa perched on the edge of the sofa, legs crossed and hands folded over the arm of the sofa. Her eyes kept roving between Theodore and Harry who didn’t bother to put on a shirt for their peace of mind. Sitting cross-legged on the carpet, Harry pulls the food out of the bag, ignoring Marceline insistently complaining about food and clothes, to hand the sweet and sour chicken to Theodore.

Marceline, Rory, and Claire debated full suit versus a blazer while Theodore settled on the floor across from Harry, wielding the wooden chopsticks expertly. He winked at Harry and stole the egg roll literally out from under Harry’s fork. Harry glared and stole a piece of sweet and sour chicken receiving a crooked eyebrow from Theodore. He popped the chicken in his mouth with a grin.

Keeping quiet, he eyed Marceline’s choices with a considering eye. He held out his hand until Theodore slipped his mobile phone into Harry’s palm. Washington raised his eyebrows when Harry keyed in the code, popping in some of his kung pao chicken into his mouth as he scrolled through Theodore’s contacts list. He typed out a message to Marley before setting the phone down. Harry tilted his head and considered Theodore; he raised his eyebrows questioningly. He held up a finger for Theodore to wait, reaching across the table to steal another popper of chicken from his container.

“I know you,” Preston said suddenly from the other side of the room. Harry glanced up at him but didn’t speak, bringing another forkful to his lips. “Harry Benton-Sterling, you’re the crisis management publicist from Dissident Management.” Harry chewed and nodded, looking down at the screen of Theodore’s phone when it buzzed. Theodore reached for it cheekily, pouting when Harry stabbed the back of his hand playfully with the plastic fork. He looked at the picture on the screen before handing it over to Theodore and reconsidering Marceline’s options. “Why are you here?”

“I’m working.”

“Here? Shirtless?” This came from Lysa Thomas who seemed utterly unimpressed by Harry’s presence.

“He’s my friend. And he’s staying here. Does that require a shirt?” Theodore inquired, snapping at them coldly.

“Friend?” Lysa repeated archly.

Harry looked up at her and tilted his head with a venomous smile on his face. “Friend because what’s the point in staying in a hotel when I can stay in much better accommodations with people that aren’t paid to be nice to me.” Theodore stifled a burble of laughter while Harry shrugged. “And if you have a question, ask it. I don’t have time for innuendos and side remarks. If you want to know if we’re fucking just ask otherwise I’m not entertaining this behavior, are we clear?”

Lysa grimaced and sniffed, looking away from him.

Satisfied there would be no underhanded commentary from Preston and Lysa, Harry focused back on Claire and Marceline’s ongoing feud. He needed to get Theodore out of the house because the longer Lysa and Preston shared air with him, the more he could see Theodore jonesing for a fix. Preston could see it too through the lens of lacking the self-awareness to realize it was his presence that had pushed Theodore so far off-kilter.

“Do you need a fix?” Preston asked sternly.

Theodore stiffened, eyes darting towards Harry. “I don’t.”

“When did you last have one?”

Washington shook his head and walked out of the room while the rest of the team awkwardly continued what they were doing.

Theodore flushed, “I’m fine. I don’t need a fix. It’s fine.”

Before the questions could continue, Harry swiped Theodore phone from the table and tossed it at Marceline, the screen showing the picture Harry had asked for of Marley in her dress. “The dark distressed jeans, the Alexander McQueen feather patterned shirt, and the Velvet tuxedo jacket. Give him one of those weird hipster hats and let him wear the Saint Laurent Chelsea boots by the front door. He’ll complement Marley’s outfit without overpowering her and looks ridiculous enough to be fashionable, casual enough to say confidence, but dressy enough not to look like he just rolled out of bed.”

Marceline gaped at him before returning her gaze to the picture and nodding swiftly, an excited smile, spreading across her face. When she started chattering excitedly about Versace pendants and diamond bracelets, Harry tuned her out, eyes narrowed on Lysa whose attention had focused on Preston with lazerlike precision.

Preston cleared his throat, met her eyes and nodded. “Maverick, Lysa and I have discussed this at length. We think tonight’s the night.” Theodore turned to him, eyebrows raised. “You should kiss Marley for the cameras.”

“Must I?” Theodore asked with a disgusted grimace.

“Don’t you think that’s kind of a given at this point? You two have been flirting over Twitter for months—”

“Talking,” Theodore corrected him with an eye roll, turning back to his food. But his body tensed the longer Preston kept this conversation alive.

“And seen partying and going out together.”

“Okay?”

“I’m saying marry her or tell the world you’re moving in together. Give her a little kiss. It’s nothing you haven’t done before. Even with friends, just look at Alina Rosen.”

Harry’s eyes moved back to Theodore. He understood Preston’s point, and didn’t quite understand the hesitancy in Theodore. If this had been Irial and Cris Emerson, he’d say it was a principle thing. But Theodore and Harry were not Irial and Cris. Stunting was stunting even when it was being done to keep people in the closet. Dissident mishandled their PR to force Cris into someone he couldn’t be, but Theodore understood the game—liked it even—his reluctance came from someplace deeper.

“I don’t want to,” he stated calmly, taking another bite of his chicken. “If people only have speculation, then I can keep being friends with her. The minute we kiss in public, it’s as good as confirmed. Then things get messy. We’ll have to stage a break up, and the public doesn’t trust celebrities who stay close friends with their exes. Especially celebs with reputations like me.”

And Harry totally understood his point. He nodded his head in agreement.

“Is this about—” Lysa started, glaring at Harry.

Theodore waved a hand dismissively. “Harry doesn’t care. It’s all a game to him. He gets it. _I_ don’t want to put my fledgling friendship with Marley under that sort of stress. I like her. I want her to keep liking me. You want me in the spotlight looking youthful and sexy and living the high life, find somebody else. I’m not stunting with Marley.” He tossed down his chopsticks, picked up his clothes, and stalked off.

Harry nodded and dabbed at his lips with the napkin. His eyes landed on Rory.

“Keep an eye on him. All night. All the time. When he goes for the cocaine—and he’s bound to now,” Harry stated with a stern, chastising look towards Lysa and Preston, “bring him straight home. I don’t care if he protests. I don’t care if he fights you and Washington the whole time. I’d rather have him under my supervision than running around Hollywood all night doing God only knows what.”

Preston sneered, “It’s never been a problem before.”

“That’s what you think,” Harry replied coolly, popping another egg roll into his mouth and wishing Lysa and Preston back to the circles of hell they’d climbed out of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I almost missed my deadline and there is smut. And Harry's tumultuous relationship with Iri totally caught me by surprise but this story wrote itself when it came to relationships, and looking at the way Irial handled his affairs in regards to Harry was eye-opening.


	14. "Know No Better" by Major Lazer ft. Travis Scott, Camila Cabello, Quavo

**Text message from Rory**

**Rory:** Incoming

**Rory:** He’s totally blitzed

**Rory:** We had to make a pitstop so he could vomit

**Rory:** eta 10min

**Harry:** Ready for it.

 

**Maverick (@MaverickOfficial)**

What do you do when don’t wake up in your own vomit and feel super bad about it?

 

**Nina <3333(@pequitanina)**

@MaverickOfficial enjoy a vomit free existence…

 

**Stephanie Hael (@all_hael2761)**

@MaverickOfficial not drink so much next time omg!!!

 

**Jordyn (@st0rm_cl0uds)**

@MaverickOfficial cook breakfast and grovel in sobriety

 

**Maverick (@MaverickOfficial)**

@st0rm_cl0uds you might have a point :*

 

**Dido Lynn Darby beefing with popstar Maverick?**

The MTV Music Video awards happened only yesterday and despite the awards both R&B artist, Dido Lynn Darby, and popstar, Maverick, picked up for their music video flare, it seems these two have beef. Dido Lynn Darby was asked in a red carpet interview about her impressions of Maverick with his recent work crossing genre in elements of hip-hop, R&B, punk, and even some jazz that all somehow manage to blend harmoniously. At least that’s what _we_ thought. Seems Dido’s not feeling the love. She responded to the question by saying “He’s a perfect example of a younger generation of musicians who just don’t have the fortitude to immerse themselves in a genre and really embrace its nuances. He’s a gifted performer and a decent enough singer, but his needs to be honed as a musician.” Despite his tendency to accept his critiques, Maverick responded to the scathing view on his musicality by stating, “We all know Dido’s an icon. Like Madonna, and I would never want to spew hate on my colleague or someone with so much experience, but I don’t think experimenting with music is something to be ashamed of. That’s how we developed hip-hop and R &B and rock and pop. They don’t exist in a vacuum. They had a history, and like our icons and our colleagues, we should honor them by not enshrining them in gold and assuming they can do no wrong.” Though both have denied any hard feelings, it certainly seems like there are some.

 

**Maverick (@MaverickOfficial)**

So I have a confession…and a surprise

 

**Maverick (@MaverickOfficial)**

Confession: Promises, Promises isn’t going to be on the album.

 

**Maverick (@MaverickOfficial)**

Surprise! I just released the actual first single on YouTube

 

**Jeannie (@genies &liv)**

@MaverickOfficial it’s called ‘Le Petite Mort’ #letmelayhereindeath

 

**Nikola K (@nikokola <3)**

@MaverickOfficial @genies&liv sex songs and surprise release let me just die rn

 

**Text message from Harry**

**Harry:** What are you doing on Halloween?

**Theodore:** Having sex with you?

**Harry:** No.

**Harry:** Ghost Tour at Hampton Court Palace

**Harry:** Then Rosie and Cheryl got tix for this crazy ass Halloween party in Kingston Upon Thames

**Theodore:** Costume required?

**Harry:** Naturally.

**Theodore:** I’m so there.

* * *

The interviewer defined unprofessional. It wasn’t the first time an interviewer (a young, new hire interviewer) tried to hit on him, but this was the first time it had happened in her practically wearing no clothes. He thought there was a very clear line between an informal interview and an interviewer showing up in a pair of cut-off shorts that showed her asscheeks and a crop top like she was one of the girls from Scarlet Letters _touring_. He’d had the decency to show up wearing pants and a shirt in _October_. It would be nice to receive the same respect.

Again, Erin McKinley ran her fingers through her caramel colored hair, the spray tan so heavily applied that her skin tone looked like it was trying to appropriate another race. The look on his face had alerted his team to how irritated he was, and even the woman’s production team had picked up on his irritation.

“You can’t just drop a single on people like that! Twitter exploded. I think your fans all had a collective heart attack. You can’t just _do_ that,” Erin teased him.

Theodore cocked his head, eyes narrowing her with condescension that everyone could read but her. “I mean but I could obviously. And since I pitched this to my publicist first and got the thumbs up, I imagine it was definitely doable. That’s what happens in my profession I don’t just release stuff. I talk it over with other people. If I just did whatever I wanted, that’s unprofessional, don’t you think?”

“No one was prepare for that video,” Erin said lasciviously.

His eyebrow crooked.

The cameraman turned towards the production assistant with a desperate look on his face. The only response that came from the production assistant was a slow shake of his head, eyes wide and expression somewhere between disbelief and the sour look people had when they bit into a lemon.

“Was there a question in there?” Theodore asked blandly. “Actually, I have a question: who trained you to do interviews?”

“Let’s just…stop, stop,” a stern-faced woman said from the wings, arms crossed over her chest and pinched expression on Erin McKinley. The crew looked relieved while Erin herself looked utterly dumbfounded at why she was being stopped less than ten minutes into what definitely was not an interview. “Let’s just have you stop here. I apologize for this, I’m Cassidy Hern; I usually do the interviews but we’re working with our recent hires. Erin was very promising with thought she was ready.”

“Obviously not,” Theodore said tonelessly, pulling out his phone.

**Teddy:** Erin McKinley absolute nightmare. They’re breaking in newbies.

**Harry:** Lmao with YOU?

**Teddy:** Apparently the memo wasn’t sent.

**Harry:** No shit.

“If it’s acceptable, I’d like to finish the interview, personally, Mr. Maverick.”

At this, Theodore looked up, slipping his phone into his pocket. He smiled, flatly enough to know that the slight was not forgiven but genuinely enough that she wouldn’t try to light him on fire with words. After the shit this station pulled, they deserved no more than a sound bite out of him no matter what he did to piss them off.

“As long as you intend to ask actual questions, that’s fine.” His eyes roved over her figure: nice pencil skirt, professional blouse, cardigan. Professional. “And since you’re wearing _clothes_ ,” he added, glaring at Erin as she disappeared. “That is what I came here for.”

“Lovely,” Cassidy said, though she looked unsettled as she settled into the seat Erin had just vacated. She pressed her lips together and stared into the camera, waiting for the sign to start before turning to Theodore and smiling broadly. He didn’t bother to smile back. There was no point in lying _that much_. Besides, his fans figured everything out anyway. And he kind of wanted to see the fandom roast Erin McKinley for being unprofessional. It was a hard job, but someone had to do it. “You had two songs released within the past couple months. ‘Neon’, Elena Valence’s song which you co-wrote and featured on, and the single from your upcoming album, ‘Le Petit Mort.’ Two totally different styles. Was it hard to manage them both?”

“Not really. I’ve always been very good at multitasking with music. And I can separate what I needed to accomplish and say in a song that’s predominantly Elena’s from a song that’s about me and my experiences. Even though it was a collaboration, that song was largely Elena’s, and I can temper my composition and writing to accommodate that. She can as well so it was an easy collaboration.”

“And ‘Le Petit Mort’? It wasn’t supposed to be the single was it?”

Theodore tilted his head and shrugged with a charming smile. “I had a really clear direction of what I wanted for this album. Then I moved to London, and everything I wanted this album to say just flew out the window. And ‘Promises, Promises’ just didn’t fit anymore. I mean it’s fun and coy and playful, and this album is…not coy.”

“I think we got that memo when the first song you dropped was a pretty hot and heavy sex song.”

“Except it’s not,” Theodore said, allowing himself to play off Cassidy’s vibe. “Everybody says that, but this song was the first song I wrote when I moved to London. I mean I already had half the lyrics scribbled on my arms in Sharpie. So it’s not about sex. It’s like…pre life-altering sex. It’s the anticipation for that. Which admittedly, this could have been a whole different album if it hadn’t been incredible but it was…so it’s fine.”

“So what is the feel of the album, then? You haven’t released the title yet, but what’s the feel emotionally because what I got from ‘Le Petit Mort’ other than the song I’m definitely having Valentine’s Day sex to with my husband was sexual frustration,” Cassidy teased. The tone was light enough for her words not to be as crude or inappropriate as they seemed on the surface, and Theodore hardly minded. He didn’t have sex to his music, but hell if no one else could.

“I guess if you came for sexual frustration, sexual satisfaction, sappy embarrassing love ballads, and hardcore ‘you drive me crazy’ songs, then you probably got what you came for. I mean I just finished recording this one song called ‘Drawing Blood’ which is literally about having the meanest lover I’ve ever had who thinks everything I do could be better and that I’m total shit, and I’m so turned on by it. Like I’m here for it. Which I’m twenty and should not admit while my parents can still, you know, hear, but there it is.”

Cassidy smiled, “You sound very excited for this album.”

“It was fun to make, and it’s less distant from me. Like it’s about what I _did_ rather than what _happened_ to me, which doesn’t seem like a huge change but lyrically and musically, I was crazy in studio. I want everyone to love this album, but I also want to hug it for a little while and not let anyone hear it. Ever.”

“Has your girlfriend heard it yet?”

Theodore leaned back in his seat and examined Cassidy carefully before a slow smile spread across his face. “I see what you’re doing. But we’re not going to go there. My muse has not heard anything except the single, and then I get a bunch of text messages about poor diet and my shitty sleeping habits so…who knows?”

Preston made a sign to wrap it up, and Cassidy nodded swiftly, turning back to Theodore with a beatific smile. He blinked lazily at her wondering why people taught reporters to smile so much. Didn’t they know excessive glee was actually creepy in small dose (and large doses)? They must, right?

“I know we have to go so two questions before you jet out of here: when does the album come out and what are your Halloween plans while you’re in London?”

Theodore laughed and shook his head. “Album comes out December 5th. And I’ve been roped into clubbing in costume with some friends in the area. So it’ll either be a lot of fun or really terrible. I’m open to it either way.”

“Your mystery girl going to be there?” Cassidy inserted slyly, a smile on her face that told him she knew he wouldn’t fall for it but had added it because that was expected.

“Maybe yes, maybe no. That one’s hard to pin down, unless she’s the one doing the pinning.”

Cassidy laughed delightedly at the olive branch she’d been offered. “Thank you so much for joining us.”

Theodore hummed and shook Cassidy’s hand as the cameras went off and the soundstage exploded into motion. He thanked Cassidy again under his breath for saving the interview before Rory was tugging him away, Washington close at his heels as they shuffled him out the door towards where Oscar waited in the car to escort him to the meeting with Preston and Lysa Thomas and the rep from the studio who’d come down to pin down last minute preparations for the album.

At least, Preston would be off his back after spending a whole interview gushing about the album he’d written about Harry Benton-Sterling. Throwing in a ‘she’ had been an olive branch to more than Cassidy Hern. Getting through this process with Preston would be a nightmare, and if he stuck to gender-neutral terminology during interviews through this whole process, Preston would actually strangle him. In eight years, no one had ever seriously suspected Theodore was gay, something Preston was proud of rather unnecessarily. Theodore had done all the work, and judging by Cris Emerson’s recent press, the lack of desire to participate imploded eventually.

They went to the Saint Giles studio to the ground floor conference room to confer with the studio rep, Olive Rinehardt, who Theodore had met a number of times before in passing. She smiled at him warmly, the most sincere greeting over everybody in the room. Theodore settled into one of the plush leather rolling chairs with Rory and Washington on either side of him. Lysa sat at the end opposite Olive with Preston alone on the long side, closest to Lysa’s left hand.

“So, first things first,” Olive said turning to Theodore, “this is possibly your best album yet. Musically and lyrically and _emotionally_ , for sure. I’m sure your PR team has things to go over due to some of the content.” Olive finished this with a slight, feigned cough, eyes darting to Lysa who shrugged one shoulder. “Your usual push is to release three or four singles over a two year period in preparation for the next album, I saw. But we think it’s possible to stretch it to four or five considering the popularity and the diversity in styles and genres.”

“I’d be okay with that, but we’d have to discuss the singles. I’m sure the label has ones they’d prefer so we’ll have to exchange lists.”

“Of course,” Olive said briskly, waving that off. “We’re open to alternatives. The only hard no due to your age and the general ages of your fans was ‘Ignite’ which is poetic enough to get away with but would be a hard sell as a music video.”

Theodore shrugged, “I wouldn’t be comfortable with releasing that song as a single anyway.”

“Good, then I’d rather discuss touring. I appreciate that you confirmed Jingle Ball, though I know how much that pained you.” Olive said with a smile while Theodore grimaced. He did not like Jingle Ball, and beyond that, he’d wanted a first Christmas with Harry that wasn’t via Skype, but Harry had explained what Theodore already knew about Jingle Ball and told him not to piss of label with a kiss and a blowjob. Jingle Ball it was. “The studio was back and forth between a shorter stadium tour and a longer world tour.”

“And you want a world tour because it’s been four years since I’ve done a really hardcore world tour, right?”

Olive nodded her head and tapped her pen against the pad, “What do you think about that?”

Theodore thought he didn’t want to be away from Harry for three-fourths of a year, but on the other hand, “I do love tours.”

“I figured,” Olive said. “We’ve started reaching out to venues. I can tentatively put a starting date at April 4th in Los Angeles, but we’ll have the dates finalized by December.”

“Sounds good,” Theodore agreed.

“Your show,” Olive turned towards Lysa and Preston.

Lysa laced her hands together and smiled serenely at Theodore, only serving to put him more on edge. He felt the adrenaline kick in, hands beginning to tremble so he hid them under the table, watching her evenly. “Obviously, we can’t stop you from discussing what inspired this album.”

“Obviously.”

“So we want you to get a girlfriend.”

“Shocker,” Theodore deadpanned, rolling his eyes. “Has someone said something online?”

“No.”

“But you’re worried they might, because if I’m having fantastic sex and refusing to name names, then I must be gay.” Theodore nodded sagely like all of this made perfect sense. Not that he didn’t understand the purpose behind a PR date, and not that he was totally against the idea. But he was against the idea due to some alien fear of what might happen. A totally irrational fear of what might happen.

Theodore and Harry did discreet a lot better than problem child Cris Emerson and his in-your-face boyfriend. They managed to do midnight grocery runs to the twenty-four hour Tesco without being spotted on a weekly basis. They went to movies and plays and dinner and breakfast at places where Harry knew people willing to seat them in the back away from where people could spot them. Hiding wasn’t hard unless they decided to go clubbing or make out at uni hangouts. Of all the closeted couples, Harry and Theodore were the ones that had their shit together.

Not that they were strictly a couple.

He grimaced and refused to think of that while surrounded by enemies. If anything, couple or not, Harry had him. Had his heart and had his back and had his trust.

“Maverick, you need publicity. Positive publicity in songs where you write about alcoholism, drug use, graphic sex, and mutual manipulation.” Theodore pursed his lips and blinked at her innocent. Lysa sighed and squeezed the bridge of her nose. “I need you to understand: this is not about this closet. This is not about how you wrote an entire album comparing sex to cocaine highs, calling your past girlfriends irrelevant mind fucks, and having borderline BDSM sexual fantasies over your gay lover.”

“Okay, but we actually did most of that shit. Try again,” Theodore added just to piss her off.

Olive chuckled while Preston’s expression darkened, and Lysa took off her glass to massage her stress headache. “This is about visibility. We don’t need a confirmation just a nice public fling that can get tongues wagging. And not with Marley Afwa since you’ve made your objections to involving her very clear.”

Preston rested his palms on the table and leveled with Theodore. “Let’s be honest, the buzz from this album and the critic’s responses to the single, your album probably doesn’t need this. But if it means that much to you, what could it hurt?”

Theodore smiled suddenly, surprising everyone in the room. He crossed his arms over his chest and nodded in agreement. Lysa relaxed, starting to smile at Preston when Theodore cut of their celebration at manipulating him. “On one condition,” they both tensed and turned to look at him, “Harry picks the girl.” Lysa hesitated but seemed to concede, not that Theodore was done by any means. “And oversees the entire stunt,” Preston and Lysa both gaped, arguments on the tips of their tongues. Theodore grinned, “Do you really think you can do this better than he can? That’s my offer. Take it or leave it.”

He could see on their faces how desperate they were. He could see in their dissatisfaction that he’d cornered them into taking it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is technically Friday's update, apologies. My whole day was spelling bees and trying to catch an airplane to New York during some storm in the east coast before my benefits expire (which is dumb). And then I was sick all weekend. But I have it for you and your Monday update. And I am officially addicted to caffeine, I was sick all day. One sip of coke and balance was restored to the universe. That's just sad.


	15. "Feel It Still" by Portugal. The Man

To: lysa.thomas@godfreygroup.com

Cc: preston.duke@godfreygroup.com; rory.tannen@godfreygroup.com; teddymaverick96@gmail.com

From: sterling.harry@dissidentmanagement.com

Subject: RE: Responsibility for Stunting

Mrs. Thomas,

I don’t know where you thought being cold, demanding, and downright spiteful would get you with me, but I can tell you that if you thought to achieve something from your previous email after what you inferred of me in Los Angeles, then I can tell you right now you’ve failed. I’ll handle this stunt, and you’ll learn the details as they happen because I can’t trust either your or Preston to handle this with any level of professionalism that I find appropriate.

Best,

Harry Benton-Sterling

Crisis Management PR

Dissident Management

 

**Holden Ireland (@holdtheirish)**

Let me just stand here and fangirl for a moment about my sister knowing @MaverickOfficial

 

**Ariella Emerson (@Ariella_Em106)**

@holdtheirish hold me beer so that I can pass out proper #somefriendyouare

 

**Cris Emerson (@Cris_Emerosn)**

@holdtheirish @Ariella_Em106 what? what? you did not meet @MaverickOfficial. I haven’t even met him!

 

**Maverick’s Wild Halloween**

Londoners love having Maverick around to spice things up. Never one to turn down a party, the popstar took to Halloween with an interesting group of people including BBC Radio 1 DJ, Cherrie Taylor, singer/songerwriter Soren Reid, model Marley Afwa, photographer Catriona Buchanan, Cris Emerson’s sister Ariella, rapper Dali, and a few others. The group reported went on a ghost tour in Hampton Court Palace before moving the party into nearby town, Kingston Upon Thames, to hit the clubs in costume. While many people were expecting an appearance from Elena Valence, there were instead whispers that Canadian-American indie singer, Chesapeake Maro, might have been present. Though she’s touring in the UK, there shouldn’t be a reason to go so far out of her way…unless she’s this mystery girl Maverick’s been singing about. Only time will tell.

 

**Radio Interview with Aaron Eckert**

**Aaron:** I think people were fairly convinced you didn’t believe in monogamy until you started talking about this upcoming album.

**Maverick:** I never disbelieved in monogamy. I understand when people say we’re not built to be with one person forever, but I just think it’s such bullshit. I certainly didn’t think monogamy was for me quite yet, but I also think that sometimes you meet someone and are like if they cheat on me, I will absolutely lose it. And I guess that’s when you know you’re ready for monogamy.

**Aaron:** And you’ve gotten there with this mystery girl?

**Maverick:** ( _laughs_ ) It’s complicated. Not on my end, mind you, but I wouldn’t mind monogamy. It’ll be difficult for sure, but not impossible. And it’s something I do want to try.

**Aaron:** You’ve got the AMAs on Sunday where you’ll be performing with Elena Valence, and then any plans for Thanksgiving while you’re in the States?

**Maverick:** Of course, my parents are out in New Orleans. All my mom’s family is out there so I’ll be heading out to spend the holiday with them. I’m not a huge fan of Thanksgiving, actually, but we do gumbo and alligator bites not so much turkey so I’ll at least be able to eat. I hate turkey.

 

To: sterling.harry@dissidentmanagement.com

From: adelaide.johanna@dissidentmanagement.com

Subject: RE: November

Harry,

Of course you can go to the States for Thanksgiving. I just want to know who is this secret man that you’ve been running around with. I’m so curious.

Johanna

* * *

 

Theodore woke up to slow kisses up his sternum, and he stretched with a smile, running his fingers through Harry’s hair.

“Morning.”

“It’s noon.”

Eyes opening wide, Theodore peered at Harry skeptically, willing that to be a lie. “Bullshit.”

“Mabel says that the family will descend in less than ten minutes, so you should put a shirt on and probably pants that don’t have Minions.” Harry replied cheekily, leaning down to press a kiss to his lips. Ordinarily, Theodore wouldn’t give two shits about being on time and tug Harry back into a proper, dirty kiss that would keep them in the bedroom and extra two hours. As it was, the Mavericks had a habit of blowing up boundaries. The last thing he needed was for his cousins to see him being fucked.

Again.

Sluggishly, Theodore pulled on a pair of blue jeans, a long-sleeved Burberry shirt, and beanie over his hair so he didn’t have to brush it. Barefoot, he padded out of the room, stroking the head of Mocha, his parent’s chocolate lab, when it trotted up to him excitedly.

The house smelled like sausage, cheese, and cornbread all of which made Theodore’s stomach rumble. He crept through the hallway to the front of the house were his mother talked happily to Harry in the kitchen while he pulled a casserole dish of macaroni and cheese out of the oven to set it on the counter to cool. Curtis, nowhere to be seen, was probably in the backyard setting up the folding tables in the yard since it was the only place they could comfortably fit the twenty something people coming over to the house for Thanksgiving including Mabel’s parents in the seventies.

“My son lives!” Mabel said happily, patting Mocha’s head when she settled at Mabel’s feet. Drawing him closer, Mabel pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Good morning, sugar.”

“Morning, Mama.”

“Glad you could join us,” she said archly.

Theodore colored and shrugged his shoulders. “It’s not like _I_ was gonna help cook.”

“No, I imagine not. That’s why I stole your boyfriend here.” Mabel said brightly, reaching over to pat Harry’s cheek.

Theodore felt mortified, his eyes darted to Harry, stuttering to correct her because they were…not that, right? He would have gotten the memo if being together was something that Harry was willing to commit to. Not that Theodore had ever brought it up. The worst Harry could say was no, and Theodore was so enthralled by Harry that he’d be crushed if Harry didn’t want him the same way.

“I…we’re…Mama,” Theodore started, jolting at the knock of the door.

Harry watched him carefully, face set. Leaning over, he pressed a slow kiss to Theodore’s lips, hands on his hips to nudge him towards the door. “Go answer the door, babe,” he said with just enough warmth and reassurance in his words to make Theodore grin like a little kid.

He hesitated and said grimly, “I don’t really want to.”

Rolling his eyes, Harry turned to Mabel who put her hands on her hips and glared at Theodore. “And what if that’s your grandparents?”

“I’ll get the door,” Theodore answered quickly. He did not relish being scolded by his grandmother. His grandfather, Calvin, had spent his life as a fisherman, granting him with an easygoing disposition in his old age. Donna, though, had a hair-trigger temper. She had never been one of those typical 60s housewives. She had been a high-powdered secretary for one of the biggest developers in the New Orleans area in the 60s. Scary women.

And there they stood outside the door. Calvin smiled at him warmly and tottered into the house to give his daughter a kiss. In a kaftan and headwrap, Donna narrowed her eyes at Theodore and cleared her throat pointedly. “Find that father of yours and go get the pot of gumbo out of the back of Grandpa’s truck, you hear?” Theodore nodded, and Donna smiled suddenly, leaning over to kiss his cheek, “Glad to see you home, darling. And I hear you brought a man. Can _he_ cook?” She asked walking passed Theodore. “Can _you_ cook?”

Theodore went into the backyard to find Curtis who was also hiding from his wife’s parents. Curtis had come from a relatively small family and had never seemed to acclimate to Mabel’s massive family. They dragged the family-sized pot of gumbo from the bed of Calvin’s truck to the banquet tables in the backyard. By the time Theodore went back inside, his two eldest aunts had arrived.

May White, Mabel’s twin sister, had arrived in jeans and a t-shirt along with her youngest son, Terell. The seventeen year old had been an oopsie conceived in the midst of her divorce to her ex-husband and was a dedicated football player, arguing over the game on TV with Calvin. The other sister was Danielle with her husband Xavier. Their youngest child, Wendell, was Theodore’s age and still lived with them while attending Tulane. Along with them was their twenty-four year old daughter, Aisha, who’d probably stayed with them after flying in from New York were she worked in marketing.

Neither Wendell nor Aisha had ever taken to him the way most of his other cousins had. But Aisha, for her part, seemed intrigued by whatever nonsense was coming out of Harry’s mouth.

“Teddy, sugar,” his mother called, receiving an eye roll from Wendell, and a cheerful wave from Terell. He shuffled over and his mother stacked two casserole dishes in his arms while he blinked at her in shock. “Take the collared greens and corn outside, will you? Harry, I need those pies in the fridge, please.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Harry answered while Theodore started for the backyard.

“ _That’s_ Teddy’s boyfriend?” Aunt Danielle whispered to Aunt May. “But he’s so sweet.”

Theodore rolled his eyes and kept going.

In the backyard, Curtis laughed at his mulish expression, taking the casserole dishes with the wariness of a man that hated crowds. Then, he sent Theodore back in with an impish smile and an unsympathetic pat on the back.

“Well howdy-do!” He heard from down the hall, knowing already who that could be. The fourth of Donna and Calvin’s daughters, Jessica, was the wild child. She’d been born in the seventies, by eighties she’d ben a groupie for a couple prominent rock bands, by the nineties she’d been dating rappers, and by early 2000 she had been pregnant with her fifteen-year-old Sean. No one knew who the father was, but Mabel highly suspected Jessica’s then-boss, a married Asian-American man that seemed to fit the bill based on Sean’s bone structure alone. “Hi-ya, Mama. Daddy.”

Sean rolled his eyes, smiling when he saw Theodore.

“Dad’s in the backyard. Alone,” Theodore promised.

Relief passed over Sean’s face, and he slipped down the hallway, Mocha trailing behind excitedly.

Then came Kerianne and her seven-year-old, Lila. She was Uncle Sylvester’s ex-girlfriend who’d been adopted by the family after he’d abandoned her to marry someone a year old than Theodore. She’d become good friends with Aunt May’s eldest two children, Elton, who’d she’d gone to high school with, and Delilah, both of whom arrived with her along with Delilah’s husband, Trey, and her five-year-old, Hannah.

“Overwhelmed yet?” Theodore asked as he brushed passed Harry in the kitchen to steal a snack.

Harry sighed and placed a banana in his palm with a cheeky smile. “When I graduated we had a party with my whole family, Rosie’s family, and Irial’s family. That’s overwhelming. This is just loud. But I do have a question.”

“Is this about Sylvester? Uncle Sy is…a mess,” Theodore said before Harry could ask. The door opened and Theodore sighed, speak of the devil. Only Sylvester Maverick waltzed into people’s houses like he owned them. Trudging along beside him was his twenty-one year old wife, Tamara, with their three-year-old daughter, Lila.

Conversation died.

Kerianne sniffed and fled into the backyard, dragging her daughter with her while Elton, disgusted, grabbed a couple dishes from Mabel before following. Delilah shuffled her daughter out of the room with her brother while Trey bounced anxiously on the balls of his feet. Harry’s eyebrows raised, gaze flitting to Theodore. He sighed; this was why he shouldn’t have invited Harry to Thanksgiving dinner. Emotional baggage and abandonment issues aside, even his adopted family had baggage.

Donna clucked her tongue. “Sylvester, what were you thinking bringing that tart here?”

“She’s my wife, Mama,” Sylvester said stubbornly while the homewrecker he’d married tossed her blowout over her shoulder and batted her eyelashes.

Theodore just didn’t get it. His uncle had also been an accident, a late-in-life baby that had seemingly come when Donna and Calvin had already checked out of being parents. He was thirty-three and moderately wealth from handling million-dollar real estate throughout Metairie and New Orleans. But he was not attractive enough to pull twenty-one year old.

“She’s _something_ ,” Delilah agreed coldly, “but wife isn’t the word I’d use.”

“Come now, Del,” Aunt May told her daughter softly, patting her hand. “This one ain’t your fight, darling. Why don’t you and Trey take your cousin and his guest into the back. We’ll discuss this like adults then come and join you.”

Sylvester grinned at May. “Why thank you, Sissy. Be a dear, Delilah, take you limp-dick husband, Mabel’s boy, and the help out of here so we can have a civilized cage fight, wouldn’t you darling? It’s not right to fight in front of the kids.”

“He’s great,” Harry whispered to Theodore who tittered nervously.

“Fucking Christ, Sylvester,” Donna said with a long-suffering sigh, “this is why they tell women to freeze their eggs so they don’t have kids old as I did. There’s somethin’ defective in you. I’d say it was us, but the rest of the kids turned out alright.”

“Well hell, Mama,” Jessica gasped, appalled while Calvin only looked at his wife in amusement.

Mabel hissed and grabbed both Theodore and Harry by the ear, steering there away from the front room. She shoved the macaroni and cheese into Harry’s hands and the cornbread into Theodore’s waving them out to the back while Delilah and Trey followed behind.

Outside had a considerably better atmosphere. Sean and Terell threw a football back and forth along the side of the house away from the food. Hannah and Lila giggled as they rolled in the grass with the dog. Wendell sat at the table already talking about university Elton while Aisha and Kerianne chatted about Kerianne’s new job managing a restaurant along the river. The latter looked up when the four came outside, handing off the food to Curtis and grinning brightly.

“And how about you, honey? How you doing?” Kerianne asked Theodore happily.

Theodore sat down while Harry went to help Curtis. Overachieving do-gooder that one. He watched him go nonetheless, aware of Delilah sitting down beside him with Trey on her other side. Aisha scowled at him, tossing her hair over her shoulder.

“I’m fine.”

“Are you?” Kerianne asked softer, her insistence genuine. He’d known her back when he first started doing drugs. He’d gotten a better handle on it, one that he was sure he’d lose control of eventually, but right now wasn’t four years ago.

“I am actually. I mean especially now that I finally got a nice dose of Vitamin D.”

“Do not talk smack about London!” Harry called out to him sternly where he was helping Curtis set up.

“Am I not right? Wait, _you_ talk smack about London all the time,” Theodore returned pointedly.

Harry rolled his eyes and pointed the tongs at him. “That’s because I’m a _Londoner_. That’s allowed.”

Curtis laughed and patted him on the shoulder, “True, true.”

Kerianne waggled her eyebrows and looked over at Delilah. The two women turned their gazes onto him, and Theodore stiffened uneasily.

“So…you and the Brit, how long has that been going on?” Delilah asked.

The people at the table fell silent, even Wendell and Aisha wanting to know. Unnerved by the silence, Harry looked over from where he was talking with Curtis. He crooked an eyebrow questioningly, and Theodore nodded. Harry smiled at him slightly and turned back to Curtis.

Clearing his throat, he shook his head. “It’s…we’re not…”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Teddy,” Delilah said, stroking a hand over the hair poking out from beneath his skullcap. Theodore pursed his lips and blinked at them, biting the inside of his cheek. “If you really weren’t just screwing around, he wouldn’t be at Thanksgiving competing with your parents for child of the year. At this point, they might keep him regardless of you. He’s so sweet.”

Theodore gaped at them. Harry was possibly the biggest player Theodore had ever met. Every impression people had of him was unique, and all of them were wrong. Harry was as mean as a snake. The closest he came to compliments that weren’t fake were barbed backhanded acknowledgements, and the way he showed he cared was ruthlessly nitpicking. Harry was overwhelming and had burrowed himself so deeply into Theodore’s life there could be no separating him from Theodore’s personal and professional life.

Not that Theodore minded Harry being literally all up in his business, but his family probably would. They would also probably mind that Theodore spent half his time getting off because Harry bit him hard enough to draw blood and yanked his hair so hard that he could feel his scalp burning. Not that he was going to share that.

Sweet…what a joke.

“I don’t know. Like seven months.”

They gaped at him. It’s not like nobody knew his parade of girlfriends and high profile flings wasn’t totally for show. It also wasn’t like they had thought he’d lived his life as a monk. But his short-lived affairs had been so fleeting that they’d barely warranted a mention until someone prompted a call his mother about the futility of dating at all. The longest relationship he’d had lasted three months of dramatic breakups and passionate reunions until Val had decided to try his hand at being straight.

There was no love lost there.

“That’s a long-ass time for you,” Elton noted unnecessarily.

“Thank you.” Theodore deadpanned.

“No, seriously,” Kerianne said slowly, placing a hand on the table. “Does he live with you?”

Theodore’s eyes darted up, taking in the sudden suspicion on everyone’s faces. His own expression hardened, could feel the sudden coldness going through him. This sudden suspicion really had nothing to do with his family, and while he told himself they were just looking out for him, he also couldn’t help but think if he OD’d tomorrow who would get all his money. That was completely unfair, but it’s not like anyone had ever wanted him for anything other than what he could give them before.

Harry looked up at him and went still, cocking his head and gaze skirting around the table. He said something quickly to Curtis before coming over and leaning against Theodore. He slipped one hand beneath the hand to grip his hand tightly enough that he blinked slowly and relaxed. His other hand touched Theodore’s trembling hands, and he flushed and shook his head slightly, embarrassed by how thoroughly they’d managed to work him up. “What’s the problem, Theodore?”

He tilted his head up and whatever Harry saw on his face prompted a long whistle. His eyes moved to Theodore’s family.

“I guess I should ask you,” Harry challenged.

Kerianne shared a look with Delilah before clearing her throat. “We were just discussing your living situation. Since you’ve been dating a closeted popstar with commitment issues for almost a year. Obviously we just wanted to know what kind of person you are. Teddy can be a little naïve.”

“That’s biggest joke I’ve heard all year,” Harry told her coldly. Kerianne’s expression dropped while Aisha laughed and Delilah sat up straighter, shaking off the retraining hand Trey rested on her shoulder. “It’s also none of your business. You had a baby with a man—what, seven years older than you? Eight?—and this family may pretend he wasn’t already dating someone at the time, but I’m almost sure of it. And should I start asking everyone here about pre-nuptial agreements and what they’d do with the money if they got divorced?” Harry asked eyes sliding to Delilah who stiffened and decided to stay silent. “No? That’s because it’s not my business. It’s not your money. It’s not your house. It’s not your problem. If the major concern here is that your cousin can’t handle his shit, then that’s your own misunderstanding of his character. I don’t have that problem. Of the list of what he can’t handle, my motives are not among them. Are we clear?”

The table fell silent, stewing on what he’d said. Theodore relaxed fully against Harry turning over his hand to lace their fingers together. He needed to get it together. He could put down everyone else in his life, but when it came to his adoptive family he just bit the bullet and kept silent every time. Harry leaned down to press a kiss to his temple and whispered, “Absolutely no alcohol, you’re too on the edge.”

Theodore nodded, flinching as the heavy trod of footsteps brought the rest of his family into the backyard. “Harry,” he said somewhat desperately. He absolutely was too far on the edge, and he didn’t want to do cocaine in his mother’s house whether Harry was there to babysit him or not. “I can’t…but…”

“We’ll figure it out, okay?” Harry promised in a whisper. “I’ve got you.”

And Theodore found himself surprisingly believing him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love New Orleans. I mean I could never live there it's way too hot and I'd have to learn how to drive and it's under sea level (genuine concerns in my mind) but I adore New Orleans, the people, the food, everything. If you're wondering 'but isn't Theodore from London' the answer is yes. You didn't misread that, I didn't forget, but as Theodore tends to divorce himself from that part of his history it's reflective of that.


	16. "Worst In Me" by Julia Michaels

**Maverick (@MaverickOfficial)**

I feel like I missed out on a lot by not knowing about peyote

 

**Juanita J (@sunstroke1230)**

I s2g I saw @MaverickOfficial at Chelsea’s Kitchen #phoenix #cantberight

 

**Maverick (@MaverickOfficial)**

@sunstrike1230 shhhh ;)

 

**What we know about Away For the Weekend**

While Maverick’s been making waves performing for iHeart Radio’s Jingle Ball, his fourth studio album, _Away for the Weekend_ , dropped December 5th. And while the buzz around this album certainly didn’t seem like it could stand up to the real thing, we were again proven wrong. In an incredibly cross-genre album that brought it electropop, hip-hip, R&B, and house music, Maverick wove a pretty incredible tale about, well, falling in love and lust and having no idea what to do about either. But if you’re like us, you’ve been analyzing the hell out of this album. First, Maverick pretty much admitted he’s an addict, though whether that’s to drugs, alcohol, or sex is hotly in debate and Maverick’s not admitting to anything. Second, amid the years of heavy speculation Maverick confessed to having abandonment issues, depression, and self-worth issues that he confessed in an interview with Billboard “definitely come from being shuffled around from foster home to foster home; some of them were okay and some of them still haunt me.” Third, he literally says he’s a liar in our favorite song on the album, ‘Storytellers’, Maverick says “you’re a liar and I am too, so should we lie to the world together, me and you?” As for who he’s discussing, the topic’s been in debate for weeks some suggest Marley Afwa (though we agree that timeline doesn’t match up since Maverick makes mention of meeting his lover a Wednesday in January, which points to the People’s Choice Awards). Others speculate on Anamarija Kovač, Diana Hawthorne, and, more recently, electropop up-and-comer, Chesapeake Maro. On thing’s for sure, though aside from being a musical and lyrical masterpiece, Maverick’s definitely not we all expected.

> **Comments:**
> 
> **jelenamaus23:** Ok…but his fans knew he was a total troll?
> 
> **217halloway:** My bet’s on Chesa for reals. Mostly cuz I cannot stand Diana and Anamarija
> 
> **Anonymous:** Idc who he’s fucking as long as he keeps making albums like this tbh
> 
> **anonymous:** can he write a bad song? srsly?
> 
> **dolo_hue_100:** Sometimes I forget how old he is. But he is 20 singing about bites bleeding his love and pain sending him over the edge and I’m having war flashbacks to 50shades
> 
> **anonymous:** lmao but in the best way…

 

To: sterling.harry@dissidentmanagemet.com

From: lysa.thomas@godfreygroup.com

Subject: RE: Stunting

So…Chesapeake Maro with a slow introduction to draw this out.

Ok then.

 

**Text message from Harry**

**Harry:** I’ve got Iri’s like weird xmas party thing on the 25th

**Harry:** Do you want to come?

**Teddy:** :/

**Harry:** Lmao ur basically scrooge

**Teddy:** I want xmas eve

**Harry:** You have it

 

**Holden Ireland (@holdtheirish)**

Fantastic xmas with my fav Brit fam @rosieposie @HaroldBSterling @Ariella_Em106 @DorianII @Cris_Emerson

 

**Maverick (@MaverickOfficial)**

NYE in NYC with @Marley_Afwa and all my beautiful fans :*

 

**Text message from Theodore**

**Theodore:** I got drunk. I got high. Washington took me back to the hotel

**Harry:** U ok?

**Theodore:** I got papped with Chesa if that’s what ur asking

**Harry:** Don’t fucking snap at me. That’s not what I asked you. Answer the question.

**Theodore:** I want to come home

**Harry:** So come home then

 

**Irial Dorian (@DorianII)**

Silence is better than bullshit...so that's how is has to be #FuckCensorship #HarrysASmartCookie

#kissmyass #EnjoyTheFallout

 

**Text message to Theodore**

**Harry:** Irial Grayson. Fuck my life.

 

**Teddy Langston (@TM_1996)**

It’s been a year <3 and it’s almost the bae’s bday

* * *

 

“It’s not that hard.”

“We’re not talking about it.”

“Okay,” Theodore said, glancing over at him, “but it’s not—”

“I said we weren’t talking about it,” Harry said through clenched teeth, reaching out for the dial of the radio to turn up the volume so Theodore’s own voice was drowning him out. He furrowed his eyebrows while Theodore smiled impishly at his discomfort hearing ‘Le Petit Mort’ on the radio. Not that it wasn’t a good song and not that hearing how much Theodore wanted him didn’t turn him on. But there was still something alien about hearing his love life broadcasted internationally.

Theodore looked over at him with amusement surprisingly capable of handling his own car after so much time being driven around. Harry hadn’t even known about the BMW sitting in the garage until Theodore announced he was taking him somewhere for his birthday. That had not brought the smile to his face that Theodore was probably hoping for since most of Harry’s birthdays hadn’t ended with any particular joy. Still, in an unusual display of gratitude, Harry had allowed Theodore to try his insecure and inexperienced hand at wooing Harry knowing full and well he’d get fucked later anyway.

“Olive, from the studio, confirmed the tour start date as April 4th.”

“Three shows in Los Angeles,” Harry said with a scowl and a shake of his head. He could see Theodore smiling from the corner of his eyes. It was scary how well Theodore knew him. Most people he dated—not that those relationships had ever lasted particularly long—had chaffed under his tendency to dig into their business whether he was micromanaging their affairs or not. Theodore took his interest for the compliment it was; if Harry hadn’t liked him, then he wouldn’t have dug up the information anyway. “They don’t want to add more? Since they told out in literally ten minutes?”

“They wanted to add two more, but then they would have had to cut shows from somewhere else.” Theodore grimaced and shook his head. “I actually read all the shit my fans put online where they live in like these tiny towns in Vermont and can’t go all the way to Canada or Boston for a tour. We’re going to Hawaii this time and Punta Cana and Panama City. They’re small venues and they’ll bring in the least revenue, but I could live on what I have for the rest of my life. I’d rather keep the tour dates and lose the money.”

Harry appreciated Theodore’s artistic fervor and desire to share his music with the world, truly, but he still turned to look at him with a droll stare. “Tell me that’s not what you told Olive Rinehardt when she brought it up.”

“Of course not,” Theodore snorted with a bright smile, turning to look at Harry. “Naturally I told her that I hated Los Angeles and tended to get sick when I stayed there too long and that it wouldn’t do to have me getting sick so early in the tour.”

Harry half-smiled but didn’t say anything. He was completely unsurprised.

Like he’d told Theodore’s family in New Orleans, of the things Theodore couldn’t handle, his business acumen was top-notch. The drugs, the drinking, chastisements and reprisals from authority figures, and Theodore buckled like a leaf, but when it came to his money, his music, and his brand, he ran his shit whether his management team knew that or not. He involved his fans without being involved and charmed the media with carefully constructed lies. It was all the stuff behind the scenes that he couldn’t handle, or, more specifically, the stuff that slipped out of his control.

“Are you upset?” Theodore asked suddenly. Harry looked over at him, eyebrows crooked in a wordless question. “About the album. I know it was a bit of a breach of privacy.”

Harry scoffed and ran his hands through his hair. “A breach of privacy was using a picture of you biting my lip in your album jacket. I mean okay the editing was great, and it managed to be both tasteful and sensual but _that_ I might have had a problem with, don’t you think?”

Except that he didn’t have a problem with it. Mostly because he’d already known it would happen when Theodore scrolled through the photos on Harry’s laptop and emailed himself one when he had a whole collection of their pseudo sexual pictures in his. Except Theodore’s were way more graphic. He’d already cycled through his reaction to Theodore’s album, parsing out his feelings and letting his apprehension die.

Theodore wasn’t Theodore without creating music, whatever that looked like. He scribbled lyrics on napkins, in his phone, on his skin, hummed melodies under his breath constantly, and couldn’t sit still without an instrument in his head or music playing over the radio. Half his problem with drugs was that his brain never seemed to stop composing unless he was having sex. Whatever initial hesitancy Harry had towards the album had died when he’d listened to it, not that he’d told Theodore that. He enjoyed watching him stewing with uncertainty, wanting to bring it up but never quite able to.

“It’s not unexpected. And it’s a good album. Your best album probably. It was much more cohesive thematically and musically despite how experimental you were with genre,” Harry admitted, looking out the window to hide his amusement at the shock and pride that flickered across Theodore’s face. When he’d had his moment, Harry turned to him, “But if you ever use our pictures again without telling me, I’ll cut your dick off.”

“I mean, you won’t, but I’ll agree anyway.” Theodore chirped happily, turning down a familiar street to stop outside a familiar pub.

Harry pressed his lips together and considered the four-story building carefully, the bottom floor painted a deep green and the tops lighter colored bricks where the rented flats and offices were. Three black picnic tables sat on the sidewalk outside the front door with hanging plants dangling from the gray accented decorative columns. At midday, the pub wasn’t altogether too busy, but it was also far from quiet, it’s location dead center between Cricklewood, Golders Green, and Hendon offering an oasis for the midday lunch rush and university students alike.

An old wooden sign with a lamb and lion coat-of-arms swayed lightly in the breeze declaring the restaurant to be ‘Benton’s Pub.’ Harry would have known that from sight alone, and yet here they were parked outside of his teenage workplace and family restaurant like he had never been here before…or like he’d never told Theodore that his family owned a pub before, which was apparently a grievous oversight on his part.

Theodore turned to him excitedly.

“I figured it’d be right up your alley. Washington says it’s the best Irish pub in London And it even has your name.”

“Uh-huh,” Harry squeaked out with a nod before his brain kicked into gear. How did he not ruin this magnanimous attempt to make Harry’s birthday something other than a hated non-event and also not make it look like he was hiding his family from Theodore? He hadn’t. Intentionally. But he’d seen Theodore’s family more this year than he’d seen his own with the exception of his grandparents. Talking about his parents had never really come up. “Should we go see then?”

The uncertainty on Theodore’s face gave way to a grin.

Harry glared up at the pub as he climbed out.

When his grandfather had managed the pub, it had been little more than a dive bar with authentic Irish food passed down almost three generations back when their family had actually been Irish. Now, they were a British family that made Irish food, and Harry’s father had taken over, brought in mixologist Beverly Dixon, and turned the place into a fairly renowned gastropub.

The asshole.

He followed close behind Theodore into the familiar, windows through open to let in what little light the sky permitted, the aroma of Guinness heavy in the air, and a quiet chatter throughout the din as businessmen, professors, and students took their lunch and shared their gossip. Resting his hands on Theodore’s waist, he guided him instinctively to the nook tucked away behind the bar where most of the regulars sat to watch football and rugby. They settled at a fairly secluded table surrounded by men drinking pints and loudly arguing about whether Arthur Bailey was Britain’s Christ-child or if he’d fade into obscurity in a few years.

Harry scoffed, fat chance of that.

“You ready?” Theodore asked after a minute, starting Harry from his distracted searching for anyone he knew. So far, he’d only seen two new girls and an unfamiliar busboy. He looked over at Theodore and softened, tension easing slightly as he nodded his head. His attempted his disguise wasn’t so much a disguise as he usual slouchy style that he wore around the house including the glasses that Harry had only just been informed he wore. His hair had been tucked up beneath a beanie and the flannel shirt he’d pulled on over his tank top was actually an £85 Boy London designer ensemble.

When Harry didn’t recognize the two bartenders working behind the counter, he allowed himself to relax slightly. He rested his hands on Theodore’s hips and pressed his forehead against Theodore’s back, feeling the muscles relax beneath his touch. His arms wrapped around Theodore’s waist, resting his forehead against Theodore’s shoulder.

“We’re over at table 21,” Theodore said to whichever girl was taking his order. Either they hadn’t recognized him or had decidedly not to make a big deal of it, because Harry felt none of the usual tension in Theodore’s body. “Can we get one Kilkenny’s and one Guinness? Then the, uh, you want the chowder, yeah?”

Harry nodded against his neck.

“The seafood chowder, bangers and mash, and the burger with cheese and bacon please.”

“Course, love,” Harry heard, stiffening at the familiar Scottish drawl. Where had she come from?

“Are you okay?” Theodore asked, starting to turn when Harry didn’t answer. Harry held him still and sighed, looking up and resting his chin on Theodore’s shoulder.

Maisie Maclean pursed her lips and tilted her head at Harry with a distinctly disappointed look on her face. Her eyes moved between him and Theodore, a glint of recognition in her eye that she chose not to pursue. Instead, she handed Theodore his card back to him without glancing at him, crossing her arms over her chest to scowl at Harry while Theodore peered between them curiously.

“Nia, I need a Kilkennys and a Guinness.”

“Sure, thing,” the girl with bright pink hair said when she finished studying the showdown with fascination.

“Harry Benton-Sterling,” Maisie spat coldly. Harry smiled weakly and nodded at her. “You didn’t tell us you’d be coming by today.”

“Not an oversight.”

“Don’t you think Mr. Jonathon wants to see you?” Maisie replied, scoffing and turning to Theodore with a bland expression. “I see he didn’t tell you his family’s owned this place for five generations. He didn’t tell me when we were dating either. That was ages ago. Now I’m the general manager. Isn’t that right, Harold?”

Harry pressed his tongue to the top of his teeth and studied her like a poisonous snake waiting to snap. All he could manage to respond with was an empty smile and a pointed, “Did you go to school for business?”

“Management,” Maisie retorted without the slightest hint of a fading temper. “I went to school for business management. And here I am: managing a business.”

“Good for you,” Harry replied coolly. “Glad to see that £30,000 loan went to good use.”

Maisie crooked an eyebrow, unimpressed with his recrimination. “Well someone has to manage this place since _you_ aren’t going to.”

“It really is good for you, then. Since I have no intention of working here or managing here or even owning here. Can’t avoid the latter, though. You putting in to purchase early? I’ll sell it for cheap.”

Hissing, Maisie slapped her palm against the bar counter while Harry sneered. Theodore regarded her with flinty eyes reaching back to grip Harry’s wrist whether to comfort him or restrain him, Harry wasn’t sure. “You can’t just _sell_ a pub that’s been in your family for four generations. Are you kidding me? What is _wrong_ with you?” She started to shake a fist before rolling back in her shoulders and calming down. Pasting a smile on her face, Maisie turned to Theodore when Nia returned with the beers and mortal fear on her face. “Hear are your beers, we’ll have your food out to you shortly.” Her eyes slid to Harry. “And I’m telling your father you’re here.”

Theodore took the drinks silently while Harry rolled his eyes.

Neither of them spoke until they reached the table. Harry took a long swallow of his Guinness while Theodore observed him inscrutably, tapping his fingers on his glass. When he set his glass down on the table, Harry licked his bottom lip and looked over at Theodore.

“Did I ever tell you why I hate my birthday?”

“You don’t tell me anything, Harry,” Theodore told him in a soft whisper laced through with hurt. Harry deserved that.

He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. “I was six when my parents got divorced. I didn’t realize what was going on until later, but I know now. I think it was amicable up to a point. Kids know, right? And I knew they were off. Mum’s this high-powered forensic accountant who works for the government, and I don’t think dad and I were exciting enough for her. The divorce was planned. Telling me was not. I had this fantastic birthday party planned with all my friends at this fun park. And my mum comes running out of the back crying, and dad follows and tells her she has no right to cry, that she’d done this to them. That all along he thought it was both of them but actually it was all her. So I asked what was wrong. And my mum looks at me and says ‘Dad and I are getting a divorce. Are you staying with him or coming with me?’”

Theodore’s mouth fell open like he wasn’t certain what to say or how to respond. At least he hadn’t apologized. He reached over and took Harry’s hand while he smiled bitterly and angrily wiped the tears that had escaped.

“I mean I loved my mum but I couldn’t go. I couldn’t even talk. And dad looked at her and said she couldn’t have me to raise me with her new man like I’d always been theirs. She didn’t even look at me, just threw my drink in his face and left.”

Theodore nodded slowly before abruptly shaking his head and saying, “That was so unfair.”

“It wasn’t—”

“It _was_ ,” Theodore insisted looking at him sharply. “They were selfish. They imploded your whole world on you birthday. I get that realizing your wife is having an affair is probably very traumatic, but they were parents and it wasn’t about them.” Theodore told Harry stonily without the slightest bit of sympathy or remorse.

Harry stared at him for a moment wanting to defend his parents, but the longer he studied Theodore the more he realized he didn’t have the words in him. He blinked uncertainly, eyebrows furrowing, and nodded slowly.

He let out a long breath and felt a weight drop off his shoulder like he’d been waiting all these years for someone to tell him he could be angry. Angry they’d told him there and like that and that his mother had demanded he chose in the midst of all that chaos and confusion. Angry that she held the decision he hadn’t made against him all these years like he’d personally slighted her. As though he had been the one who’d spent his off-hours engaging in an affair with another man and marrying him less than a month after her divorce was finalized.

Theodore reached out tentatively to brush away a tear that Harry hadn’t even realized had dripped from his eye. The soft smile was enough to have Harry breaking every rule he set up for them, scooting closer to rest his head against Theodore’s shoulder, hands laced together in the dip where thighs pressed together.

“I’ve got you,” Theodore said.

Harry nodded, “Not gonna spring an affair and a divorce on me all at once?”

“I was thinking Bailey’s cheesecake and a puppy. But I can work on that if you want.”

“We’re not getting a puppy,” Harry said, shuddering at the thought of a little nuisance peeing on the floors, chewing up shoes, and destroying everything it came in contact with. A kitten, though, they could do a kitten.

“I’ve always wanted a pet,” Theodore mused, and Harry looked up at him. “I couldn’t have them in the foster homes, and when I moved to New Orleans, I got scouted so quick that I never had time. I never have time. I’d have to worry about who would feed it.”

“What do you want?”

“A cat,” Theodore grinned before pursing his lips and shrugging, “or a snake.”

Their gazes caught for a moment, Harry frowning while Theodore smiled, before both of them dissolved into laughter.

Someone cleared their throat primly, and Harry looked up to find his father’s girlfriend standing in front of him looking surprisingly unkempt. Samantha Keene was an art dealer by trade and artist by practice who always dressed to the nines. Seeing her setting down their food in a pair of worn jeans and a Benton’s Pub t-shirt, her chocolate curls twisted up in a messy bun was a shock to his system.

“And who is this?” Samantha inquired, slipping into the booth across from them, leaning the tray against the wall. Theodore gazed at her, wide-eyed, and Samantha grinned, holding out a hand Theodore took tentatively. “It’s not everyday I get Theodore Maverick in my pub.”

“ _Your_ pub?” Harry asked in disbelief.

Samantha shrugged dismissively. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“What question?” Jonathon Benton asked slipping into the booth beside his girlfriend. Next to Samantha he looked wizened and old despite being barely a year older. His father had never carried stress particularly well. He folded his hands on the table and peered between Harry and Theodore, pausing to studying Theodore with mild disbelief. Theodore shifted uneasily, and Harry squeezed his hand. “Well, they’re dating obviously.”

“Obviously,” Samantha said dryly. “I wanted him to tell me.”

Jonathon snorted and pointed a finger at Theodore. “You’re quite famous aren’t you?”

Theodore barked out a startled laugh while Harry rolled his eyes. He snagged the spoon out of the steaming cup of chowder, bringing it to his lips while glaring at them. Satisfied with the taste, he refilled the spoon and offered it to Theodore.

“Happy birthday, Harry,” Jonathon said softly with a warm smile.

Harry stared back coolly and stated, “I don’t celebrate my birthday.”

Jonathon winced while Samantha sighed and rubbed his arm comfortingly. Theodore nodded sagely while dragging the plate with his burger closer to him. Harry stole a fry, and Theodore smiled at them brightly enough for the melancholy to lighten. “Exactly, we’re here for tattoos. The place next door is incredible.”

Slowly, Harry turned towards Theodore who smiled back unashamedly. At this point, as long as Theodore wasn’t aiming for more piercings, Harry would take it. He leaned over and pressed a kiss to Theodore cheek, smirking when he blushed. Theodore made him better, but hell if he didn’t also make him worse.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obviously Benton's Pub is not real, but I based it off a pub called the Claddagh Ring (spelling perhaps messed up because it is based off an Irish word which means it is certainly not spelled the way it sounds) that is literally a five minute's walk from Middlesex University where I went to undergrad.


	17. "Capital Letters" by Hailee Steinfeld & Bloodpop

**goodsongabby**

This is just me freaking out about the compass tattoo and world map that Maverick got tattooed on his forearm

#maverick #maverickstans #tattoos #imightactuallydies #moretattooswouldbegreat #omg

 

**RT by @DorianII**

**Irish Rosie (@rosieposie)**

My bestie @HaroldBSterling went out and got a watercolor forest scene tattooed on his arm! wtf

 

**Radio Interview with Dexter Corello**

**Dexter:** You don’t feel robbed by what happened at the Brits?

**Maverick:** This is going to be a thing, isn’t it? I don’t. Fans like my album. Critics like my album. I’m not upset that Breaking Fourth won Best Album and Best Song. It wasn’t an upset. This is their turf, and even though I was born here, I pretty much handed back my nationality when I started working in Hollywood. Such a sell out, I am.

**Dexter:** ( _laughs_ ) That’s true. And I hear you’ve been nominated for five Grammys.

**Maverick:** I heard that too. It’s an honor to be nominated.

**Dexter:** Think you’ll win?

**Maverick:** God no. I’m against Adele, Beyoncé, and Dido Lynn Darby. Long story short: Adele’s gonna win, and then we’re going to sit through endless arguments about why Beyoncé didn’t win.

**Dexter:** You think so?

**Maverick:** I know so, but while we’re all discussing if it’s because Beyoncé is black I’ll just take this opportunity to remind everyone Adele doesn’t release an album every couple years and the Grammys is a conservative music competition. Just because we like Beyoncé’s foray into rap doesn’t mean the commission does.

 

**Teddy Langston (@TM_1996)**

When the #loveofmylife takes me to @officialronnies to hear some of the best jazz in London #soinlove #donttellhim

 

To: sawyer.ashton@dissidentmangement.com; george.daniel@dissidentmanagement.com

Bcc: wildechild@gmail.co.uk; rosieireland@gmail.com

From: sterling.harry@dissidentmanagement.com

Subject: RE: Dorian’s Twitter

Gentlemen, we've had this conversation already, and I'd rather not rehash it. I informed you weeks ago that backing Irial Dorian into a corner when it comes to his freedom on Twitter and Instagram wouldn't be good for anyone. He refuses to back down, says he's doing as you requested, and has issued you an ultimatum you refuse to consider. There's nothing I can do. I work crisis management; I'm not a miracle worker or a maid.

Harry Benton-Sterling

Dissident Management

 

**Maverick (@MaverickOfficial)**

Happy Valentine’s Day and surprise! I gave you a single because I love all of you so much <3

* * *

Harry sat cross-legged along Canal Saint-Martin with his laptop open in his lap and a Bluetooth headset in his ear, scowl on his face. Irial was driving him absolutely insane. He’d have to implement his plan at this rate, earlier than he’d thought. Admittedly, he’d been hoping to make it to the end of Breaking Fourth’s contract with Dissident, but obviously that wasn’t going to happen.

With a huff, Theodore collapsed onto the cobblestone beside him, stretching out his legs and hooking his mobile phone through the slits of his black jeans. Even casual, he couldn’t help himself in a Burberry gray shirt, Gucci yellow checkered scarf, and black coat. He stretched out to touch the tips of his Gucci boots with a pout on his lips.

Laughing quietly, Harry tucked the laptop into his bag and plucked out the headset.

“I did my mandatory stunt with Chesapeake. Now, I want to actually enjoy Valentine’s day, can we do that?”

Harry raised his eyebrows and reached out to wrap his hands in Theodore’s ombre hair. It had grown out passed his shoulders, and instead of going in for a trim, he’d come out with the locks dyed teal, insisting it would wash out before he got tired of the color. Theodore’s body grew taut, and Harry laughed under his breath tugging Theodore back into his lap. He wrapped an arm around Theodore’s neck before bending down to press a lingering kiss to his lips. As per their usual, the kiss started soft until Theodore’s mouth opened beneath his, tongues tangling. Theodore moaned into the kiss, reaching up to weave his fingers through Harry’s hair as their mouths moved together languidly.

“Is that not what we were doing when we got here last night? Or when we woke up? Or when we went to Carette this morning for breakfast?” Harry teased, giving him another kiss while Theodore whined. “Or when I got up with at midnight to watch your fans freak out because you dropped ‘Storytellers’ with no warning?”

Theodore hummed under his breath and grinned cheerfully. “But it was such a great music video, wasn’t it?”

Harry huffed and sat up, tilting his head up towards the fading twilight. The pink balloon tied to his messenger bag glinted in the warm glow of the streetlamps. Theodore stayed put, lounging in Harry’s lap and tipping his head back with a delighted grin. “If you’re going to fangirl over your own music, I can go. Leave the two of you to yourselves.”

“I’m not egotistical.”

“Well…” Harry started, smiling when Theodore’s head raised to glare at him. “When it comes to your music. It must have broken something in you to say there was no issue with Breaking Fourth having won for album of the year at the Brits.”

Theodore ground his teeth together. “ ‘The Road’ is not a better album than mine. It’s just not. With four people trying to exert their musical opinions, it’s not cohesive, it’s not innovative, it’s certainly not as dynamic.”

“Yeah, but you’re not egotistical,” Harry drawled.

“Do you disagree?”

Harry just laughed. He knew better than to wade into that argument, especially with having Irial Greyson as a friend. Irial was so protective of Cris Emerson and ‘his boys’ that he’d gnaw Harry’s head off for having the thought cross his mind. When it came do to the details, Breaking Fourth was talented, but they were also the musical mess that all boybands that were because there simply couldn’t be that many radically different cooks in the kitchen. And Theodore was a better lyricist and composer that much couldn’t be argued. But since Breaking Fourth had cultivated a radical fan following in the UK, Theodore had been a tough sell.

“What are we doing here because Chesa is a psychotic pescatarian. She’s basically an herbivore. I’m not a rabbit. I need to—”

“Monsieur? Your dinner,” said a gangly delivery boy holding two boxes of pizza, plastic cups, and a bag with wine poking out of the top.

Theodore’s eyebrows furrowed together. He sat up straight with confusion written all over his face.

Harry thanked the kid and handed him a tip settling the pizza boxes on the ground beside them and leaning the bottle of wine against it. Sitting up straight, Theodore shifted to sit cross-legged in front of him. The wary way he gazed at the food made it seem like he had genuine fear that it had been poisoned, and really wasn’t that just the most ridiculous thing Harry had ever seen on a grown man’s face.

“What is this?”

“Sliced duck, goat cheese, and Granny smith apple pizza for you,” Harry said, cracking open the first box before handing it to Theodore in all his dumfounded disbelief. “Green curry chicken, coconut milk, shrimp, and chopped peanuts for me. And wine for both of us.”

Theodore hummed thoughtfully and grinned playfully, “What’s for dessert.”

“Aside from you?”

“I’m always on the menu,” Theodore waved a hand dismissively. “This is Paris. Don’t act like I’ll pick sex over pastries. We both know me better than that.”

“You want ice cream or pastries?”

“Do you know how hard it is to find decent ice cream in London?” Theodore asked as if the question had scandalized him. He beamed and took a bite of the pizza moaning happily at the taste. When he finished his slice, Theodore reached for the bottle of wine and poured two cups. “Did you know Arthur Bailey was gay?”

Harry’s eyebrows rose.

Of all the people in the entertainment industry, Harry had the short list of every major celebrity under thirty hiding their sexuality at least in Britain. It didn’t help that Britain was such a small country with such a dense celebrity population that they all seemed to overlap into sleeping with each other. His first conversation with Cris Emerson in a professional capacity had been compiling a list of every male sexual partner he’d had. Ever. Cris had insisted that he didn’t want to out people, and Harry had insisted he didn’t give two shits about objective morality that would make his job that much harder.

“You did,” Theodore surmised sounding scandalized. Harry reached for his wine and washed down the pizza blinking calmly at Theodore. “Do you have the download on every LGBT celeb in Britain?”

“Only the young ones,” Harry told him honestly. “How did _you_ find that out?”

Theodore shrugged with a considering look in his eyes. “I didn’t. Marley parties with Kanani Kapuana and her girlfriend, Catriona. You’ve met her.” Harry nodded his head sagely. “Apparently she told Marley—drunk mind you—that Bailey’s boyfriend took his to Lacock Village for Valentine’s Day.”

“His boyfriend?”

“Some uni student named Salem Petrov.”

Harry’s eyebrows rose again. “Charlie Beck’s ex-boyfriend?”

“Charlie Beck the actor that snogged Irial last year? I knew that one wasn’t straight,” Theodore admitted plainly before shaking his head and saying dumbly. “Wait, this American kid who’s dating Arthur Bailey used to date Charlie Beck? What the hell is going on in this country?”

“I try not to get involved,” Harry confessed knowing that ship was about to sail away into the sunset to get blown up.

This was what it was like having Irial as a friend. He couldn’t do things halfway, and he had no concern for who he dragged down with him. Not that he didn’t love Irial, but sometimes he wished that he’d never been dumb enough to have a one night stand with him, wake up in his bed, meet Rosie, and be drawn inexplicably into his circle of drama and destruction. Life would be infinitely more calmer if he could do his job without having to answer to the personal ties he had to the member of the band he was supposed to dealing with professionally.

Theodore cocked his head and studied Harry for a minute before saying, “Gathering years worth of information on people still counts as getting involved. You keep saying it’s so that you’re prepared like you’re this heartless publicist, but it’s not. You don’t have this kind of background on Scarlet Letters or Diana Hawthorne or Penney Dear or even Azadi.”

Harry grimaced automatically at the lie.

“I actually have a lot on Ava McQueen from Scarlet Letters. Some on Penney Dear just because she’s dating Benji. And let’s not talk about Azadi. They have so much dirt it’s a miracle that Dissident managed to cover it all up. I know what Alina is, what they all are. How they all know each other. The ironclad contract they signed is practically an agreement to indentured servitude, and I can’t stand here and say that they didn’t know what they were getting into. They knew. They did it anyway, and now they regret it. They always do. But here’s the problem with making deals with the devil, they’re not real. The management company’s a _company_ not a social justice advocacy group. They’re not the devil. Ambition was. They’re not doing anything different than they ever were, and it’s a lie to say that they do what they do to all artists because they don’t. Ani Tiernan can go around shagging every female from Paris to Belfast but no one cares because it plays into her image. That’s how the game works. I’m so tired about hearing how the game’s rigged. Maybe it is, but when people sign themselves into these contracts acting like they’re not going to be in a different mindset in five years, they helped rig it.”

Theodore kept silent for a moment, eyes remaining on him without being even silently judgmental. He played the game almost better than Taylor Swift. He didn’t enjoy PR dates, but he handled them with aplomb because it fed into the brand he’d helped cultivate. Even Rosie who ranted on Irial and Cris’s behalf about the injustice of everything didn’t understand Harry’s fascination with the inner workings of the entertainment industry and his steadfast belief that it wasn’t enemy people made it out to be.

The only people who thought that were the ones were either shortsighted or not savvy enough to twist it to their advantage.

“This situation with Cris and Irial is really bothering you, isn’t it?” Theodore said when he spoke finally.

Harry downed the rest of his wine abruptly scowling. Theodore watched him thoughtfully, picking up the wine to refill his cup. “They act like I didn’t have a plan. I did. I had an excellent plan, and they set it on fire and danced on the ashes. Now shit’s going to get messy, and I’m going to lose my job over it. And they did this knowing I’d step in to save them. At least Irial did, because that’s what I do. It’s infuriating.”

“I always follow your media directives,” Theodore said lightly.

Laughing slightly, Harry nodded in agreement. That was true. Theodore trusted his instincts when it came to publicity so much that he kept getting him into trouble, but this at least stemmed from Dissident chewing him out for extracurricular media manipulation and the Godfrey Group sending snippy emails about advising their client without approval being a breach of professional etiquette. Since Theodore manipulated into these situations for approval and half of his comments were in a decidedly non-professional setting, Harry wasn’t altogether too concerned.

“I have a lot of issues,” Theodore admitted with a shaky smile. “I know that, but they’re my problems. Hollywood put me in a lot of shitty situations, but I’m the one who took the bait. That’s the issue here. People get scared or don’t think they’ll get another chance and agree to things they ought to know better. Everything I’ve gotten involved in has been my fault. Preston’s an enabler because that’s easier than fixing me. Sure I don’t like him or Lysa but I know they’re doing what they think is best for Maverick The Brand, not me. Your manager’s not supposed to look out for you. That’s where things get confused.”

Harry looked up at him steadily.

Theodore met his eyes with a timid smile and a shrug. “I’m a musician, but I’m also a celebrity. And celebrities play this game where they’re normal and there’s nothing wrong with them. But no one wants the whole world to look at them and love them unless there’s something broken inside them. If I only loved music, then I could be an indie singer or punk rocker or on some underground label where I have to tour ten months out of the year to put food on the table, but I don’t only love music.”

“That’s surprisingly insightful,” Harry noted with a little awe.

Shrugging, Theodore offered him a cheeky smile, reaching over to steal a slice of his pizza. He took a bite to taste it, scowled, and put it back in the box while Harry laughed. “Mabel and Curtis made me see a therapist until I was eighteen. I learned a lot about myself.”

“He didn’t realize you were on cocaine?”

“I’m convincing,” Theodore said not with the same impish glee he usually reserved for those sorts of comments, but a tired statement of fact, an honest examination of his existence complete with exhaustion. “I can convince almost anyone of almost anything. I convinced the world that I was straight, even myself for a while. _I_ did that, not my publicist, because I wanted to prove that I could do it. It worked, way too well, if I ever wanted to come out I’d need a major image overhaul, but I get my publicist. Because I’m a mindfuck. I like it. I like convincing the world I’m something I’m not and watching them cannibalize each other over the inconsistencies. How fucked up is that?”

“I think it’s actually pretty normal for your kind,” Harry told him honestly.

“My kind?”

“Celebrities. What’s unusual is admitting that.”

Tossing back his head, Theodore laughed with abandon seemingly lightened by Harry’s honest approximation of the situation. Harry would never call himself jaded, but the entertainment industry was gross. And for every power-tripping manager there was a divalicious singer or actress that approved an interview only to flip out once it got published. Everyone was as bad as each other. No one wanted to talk about that.

He’d give Arthur Bailey a pass, though. The world of sports was a problem all its own with entirely different sets of rules and expectations. Bailey needed soccer like Theodore needed music, and they both needed it on a scale large enough and challenging enough to be problematic.

“You know,” Theodore said softly, smiling at Harry uncertainly, “I think I’m in love with you.”

He didn’t say anything, taking another sip of his wine. The confession moved him, made his heart beat faster, stomach fluttering with nerves like he was a schoolboy instead of a twenty-three year old man. It also wasn’t altogether surprising. He knew he’d been screwed since Theodore had thrown him the most desperate, sad-eyed look at Kimberly’s party a year ago. It hadn’t gotten any better with time or distance or their busy schedules or the sneaking around. All of those things fit right into their lives like they belonged there, and they worked around these inconveniences without faltering.

And writing an entire album about Theodore’s burgeoning love affair with him hadn’t been anything even close to approaching subtle.

“I know we haven’t talked about it,” Theodore continued growing more and more unsteady. “But I don’t want you to fuck anyone else while I’m on tour.”

Harry had seen that coming too. It surprised him Theodore had outright asked instead of prodding around it for weeks until Harry got the memo and lost his temper about it.

“Do you think I am now? Fucking anyone else,” Harry asked point-blank.

“No,” Theodore said without pausing to think about it, “but I think thirteen months is a long time even with all the breaks between legs. This is not a short tour. This is going to be stressful, and we’re not Irial and Cris. Even if we wanted to be disgustingly co-dependent, our pride certainly wouldn’t let us.”

Harry looked up at him then, setting his pizza aside to pull his legs to his chest. He rested his chin on his knees and regarded Theodore carefully.

Despite what his uni-era sex life said about him, Harry could survive without sex. He could go out, get drunk, and not screw anyone not matter how horny he was. That was something he was capable of, something he was willing to do to make this thing with Theodore work. What he was not willing to do was abstain from that for over a year so that Theodore could go back to trying to be someone other than who he was, doing coke, and losing control of his already questionable faculties for hours.

Aside from the fact that it was dangerous, Harry’s pride wouldn’t allow him to commit to something that was incapable of reciprocity.

“Tell me the truth, do you think _you’re_ capable of that.”

“It’s different on tour, the drugs,” Theodore said slowly, like he wasn’t sure how to explain things.

“Tell me.”

“I don’t really…use.”

“How often?”

“Once I get into the swing of things? Literally never.”

Harry balked at him in disbelief that faded as he considered Theodore fully.

“I just…there’s all these dates, all these performances. It’s music and musician and performances 24/7. Everything’s scheduled. We’re on the road, rehearsing, eating, setting up, performing, taking things down, back on the go. I’m always on…so I don’t always feel like I need to be on something I guess.”

It didn’t totally surprise him in hindsight.

Theodore was an addict. The catch was that tour allowed him to be high virtually nonstop on the feeling he got performing, which didn’t mean Harry thought he wouldn’t do any drugs, but probably not as often or in as high dosages. Either way, he’d have to talk to Washington, Rory, Claire, and Marceline about how to monitor him.

“Okay, Harry said slowly, startling Theodore. Obviously, he hadn’t been certain Harry would agree, and his inquisition probably hadn’t helped any. “If you can commit to it, so can I.”

Theodore started to grin.

“But if you fuck even one person on this tour—high or not—don’t even bother calling me when you set foot in the UK, are we clear?”

The smile regrew slowly, and Theodore leaned over to press a kiss to Harry’s lips. “We’re clear, boo.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First things first, the food. Carette is a real cafe in Trocadero that serves pastries and coffee and, of course, croissants. The pizza place is called Pink Flamingo Pizza and really does serve pizza along the canal and deliver to people with their signature pink balloon.
> 
> Secondly, Theodore's promise he doesn't really do drugs on tour is insincere but not necessarily a lie. Compared to how often he does drugs on a regular basis and his ability to get a high off of constantly touring, interviewing, and traveling he doesn't use as often and therefore probably doesn't even notice the amount he does use, which isn't as sizable as when he's not on tour, but is still noteworthy nonetheless.


	18. "...Ready For It?" by Taylor Swift

**Maverick breaks the Internet—again**

It’s not secret Maverick has remained in London leading up to the kick of his Away for the Weekend Tour beginning April 4th in Los Angeles. He released the album to incredible commercial success, peaking at number one in over thirty countries and remaining the leader on US and UK charts for over three weeks. Just yesterday, the singer released the second single off the album, ‘Storytellers’ with a gorgeous music video shot on the beautiful Irish island, Inisheer, and featuring Poppy Beck. And while that had been enough to nearly break the Internet what really sent fans like us into a tailspin was being spotted enjoying Valentine’s Day in Paris with Canadian-American electropop and indie sensation, Chesapeake Maro. The two were spotted at Le Jules Verne for lunch before taking a romantic walk along the Seine. It’s been suspected for weeks that the pair had been at least talking since the People’s Choice Awards in 2016 but there’s still no confirmation that Chesa is who Mav wrote his album about, but we’ll wait patiently.

 

**RT by @MaverickOfficial**

**Sophia (@soaps4soph)**

Warning: only 3wks until @MaverickOfficial #AwayForTheWeekendTour kicks off in LA

 

**Tania Dietrich (@t_03diets)**

I am so ready for this tour but someone tell @MaverickOfficial I need to hear Branded and Ignite live #thingsineed #AwayForTheWeekendTour

 

**Maverick (@MaverickOfficial)**

@t_03diets I’m good for it #ngl

 

**Tania Dietrigh (@t_03diets)**

@MaverickOfficial O.O #hi #justkillmenow

 

**Text message from Rosie**

**Rosie:** Did u hear about this new phone company?

**Rosie:** Daiki Company.

**Harry:** Im insulted you think I haven’t. Been keeping an eye on it

**Rosie:** Are u ever coming home ever again?

**Harry:** Soon.

**Rosie:** I hope u got me tix for one of his London shows. And Cherrie too.

**Harry:** Omg lol ur so needy!!!!

 

To: sterling.harry@dissidentmanagement.com

From: adelaide.johanna@dissidentmanagement.com

Subject: Your Secret Lover

While your out in LA, you could handle some Scarlet Letter drama for me. Apparently Tilly Holbourne got into a public and loud altercation with her boyfriend that needs mopping up before the press runs with it. But I’d prefer to know who you’re dating that has you running back and forth to the place you hate most on earth.

Johanna

* * *

Lysa Thomas was giving him the evil eye from across the room. She seemed to think she was being subtle, but the steady focus of her glare was anything but subtle. It probably didn’t help the situation that people kept running to Harry for last minute details, requests, and changes. One of _Lysa’s interns_ had brought him approval for the list of press being allowed into the concert and interviews for the next day. A stagehand had brought him the set list for last minute confirmation. And Marceline’s assistant had come over to have Harry look over Theodore’s clothes.

Like he was the tour manager.

Just because Harry understood her anger does not mean that he appreciated her behavior. He leaned back in his chair, unbuttoning the blazer of the Gucci suit he’d taken from Theodore’s closet as he shot off yet another email to Tilly Holbourne. Her embittered battle with her ex-boyfriend, a YouTube star from Australia, had yet to come to an end. Now he was trashing her on Twitter, accusing her of both cheating and domestic abuse, none of which was unfamiliar to Harry. Unlike Dali Crusoe, this lie at least hadn’t involved a child, and he’d managed to sort that out, messy as it was.

Tilly was emotional.

Her bandmates were pissed.

And Harry just needed everyone to calm down.

Clearing his throat, he ran his fingers through his messy hair and considered what to do about this apparent YouTube phenomenon frat boy. His phone chimed, and he grimaced when he saw the name on screen. What he really needed was a business phone, but since Cris Emerson and Irial Dorian were imploding his employment opportunities, he’d have to wait and consider where he wanted to put his money. He had an idea but no certainty yet.

**Mum:** Harry darling you know it’s Vi’s sweet 16 soon. She wants her older brother there.

**Harry:** When? I might be busy.

**Mum:** Can you not make time for your family?

Harry sighed and rolled his eyes, setting down his phone.

Since Violet’s birthday wasn’t for another two months, either she’d insisted on seeing him or his mother wanted something. Or both. His thirteen-year-old brother, Gordon, was one of the most irritating children he’d ever have the misfortune of meeting. Apple of his mother’s eye. His father, Roger, was at least trying to beat that sort of behavior at him one punishment at a time. Violet, though, had adored him since the first moment they’d met. Her turning sixteen was a real shock his system.

“You are here,” a voice said warmly.

He half assumed it was Rory who seemed to adore him especially after he’d sat down all of Harry’s staff to explain how to handle his drug use until he decided to fix the problem. Instead, Harry looked up to find some of Theodore’s family shuffling towards him. Not the ones that expected him to be a gold-digger here and then gone wanting to take Theodore for every penny he was worth.

Mabel came over swiftly with Curtis following close behind, a long skirt swishing around her ankles, and her hair falling passed her shoulder in thick braids. Harry didn’t know how Theodore had the stomach to sing graphic sex songs in front of his parents, but then Harry had never had the desire to get up on a stage in front of twenty thousand to people to be looked at let alone sing about his love life so that was something he could acknowledge he’d never quite understand.

“We’re glad to see you,” Mabel said, sweeping him into a tight hug as he stood up. “You look very nice.”

“I borrowed the suit from Teddy…and the boots because I can’t afford two thousand dollar Saint Laurent leather boots.”

Mabel laughed while Curtis nodded his head. “You and me both.”

“You got to wear all his nice clothes, and I’m sure he’s going to come out wearing something ripped up and see through that looks like it went through a cheese grater.”

Curtis scoffed and smacked her lightly on the arm. “No faith, my love. He could come out looking nice. You don’t know.”

“But _you_ know,” Mabel said turning to Harry.

He shrugged, “I wouldn’t get your hopes up.”

“Ty! Ty! Tyler!” A girl hissed, racing over to the man in his late twenties with a bushy beard standing with two other similarly lanky, indie guys. Harry watched her slid across the floor and slam into the man with a yelp, rocking back on her heels and yelping. She tossed her mahogany hair over her shoulder and patted the man’s arm with an uneasy smile.

Harper Mizzani, one of Theodore’s opening acts for the first leg of his tour, was a Disney star aspiring to ascend her monumental beginnings. Theodore had a soft spot for Disney stars trying to extend into the next phase of their life, but Harry had been leery of her. At eighteen, she barely looked sixteen with a rail thin body, milk white skin, and dark hair. She had a nice voice and good songs, a Disney sensation was it was, but her addiction to cocaine and volatile relationship with her long-time boyfriend and Swedish hockey player, August Bergström, was not something that Harry had felt comfortable with. Theodore had assured him that he’d keep his distance, and that had been a hollow reassurance but an acceptable risk.

“You were so amazing!” Harper said quickly, through her arms around his neck before backing off. Her manager sighed, and she gave the band a thumbs up before trotting happily to the stage for her set.

Ty was one third of the indie band Ty Lepolt & the Great Divide. Probably only Theodore’s diehard fans would have even heard of them. They were a relatively new band with one EP and a newly released studio album to their name, but Theodore loved their sound. He had an entire playlist dedicated to them that he’d managed to download onto Harry’s phone without being caught to rave excitedly about how experimental their sound was.

“You know them?” Mabel inquired, nudging him to speak.

“I don’t, but Teddy likes them a lot.” Harry admitted.

Humming thoughtfully, Mabel looked up at him with a soft, apologetic smile. Reaching out, she took his hand and held it tightly in hers. Curtis looked at her with a glimpse of frustration flashing across his face.

“We heard about what happened with Delilah and Kerianne. We know you’re not like that. You love our boy. They just worry about him. He’s such a sweet boy.”

Curtis raised his eyebrows and gaped at his wife like he’d never seen her before. Harry decided not to say anything for the time being, allowed Curtis this moment to tell his wife that all her fanciful beliefs about Theodore were entirely unfounded. “Worried about his money,” Curtis clarified icily; Mabel scowled at him. Curtis shrugged his shoulders and continued despite her ire. “Theodore can take care of himself just fine. He’s been doing it his whole life. Your family is afraid he’ll meet a man and marry him before he ODs and leave all his money to them.”

“Don’t be vulgar.”

“Don’t be naïve,” Curtis snapped in the first argument that Harry had heard between the pair of them yet.

He hadn’t wanted to assume that sort of thing with Theodore’s family, but ultimately it didn’t surprise him in the slightest. None of his family with perhaps the exception of Kerianne was living in poverty. They were all moderately successful in their chosen careers owning houses and cars and sending their children to college. But Theodore was worth an estimated $230 million dollars. With money like that morality got a little slippery.

Harry met Rory’s eyes across the room as she slipped out from the dressing rooms. She raised her eyebrows, and he inclined his head towards Theodore’s bickering parents. Curtis seemed like he had a handle on the situation. It wasn’t wrong of Mabel to defend her family’s honor, but Harry had a niggling feeling that Curtis wasn’t exactly wrong, at least with the younger generation of the Maverick family.

Rory came over with a bright smile, stepping between them and rest her hands lightly on each other their arms. They startled and turned towards her. “Mav’ll be out in a minute. Mr and Mrs Langston, should I show to your seats?”

“That’s…I…” Mabel tugged on one of her braids and sighed before offering Rory a tired smile. “Of course dear. That would be fine. Harry?”

“I’ll be there soon. Teddy’ll want to see me before he goes on,” Harry told her with an uneasy smile.

Curtis raised his eyebrows, lips pursed, reading the discomfort in Harry. He’d seen enough of Theodore’s financials to know that he gave his family entirely too much money for things that they absolutely didn’t need. Or more specifically, he gave his grandparents money that Theodore knew ended up in the pockets of his cousins, aunts, and uncles. That they expected to inherit his multimillion-dollar estate after he died—that they expected him to die in his early twenties at all astounded him.

Mabel shied away from Curtis’s hand. Rory turned around and raised her eyebrows speculatively as she led them out to the sold out arena where thousands of Theodore’s screaming fans waited for him. Sometimes, Harry almost forgot exactly how famous Theodore was. Between the two, they managed well enough to keep him from being spotted when they went out in London. It wasn’t incredibly difficult, but Los Angeles was a definite challenge. And hearing the chatter and screams from his fans even over the thumping drum beats and Harper’s amplified voice.

Harry walked to the wings of the stage, arms crossed and eyes on the dark seats that seemed to stretch endlessly across the arena. He could see the dim glow of cell phones and glow sticks. Girls stood together in groups talking excitedly some looking normal and some with stickers and glitter. People moved up and down the aisles carrying drinks and snacks to their friends more than a few wearing one of the four concert t-shirts most of which had an overly large picture of Theodore’s face on it. The one shirt Harry actually liked was the photo Catriona Buchanan had taken of him for the album of him sitting cross-legged on top of a table with a metal garage covered in street art behind him.

The sheer level of everything this was felt mildly overwhelming.

His anonymous legions of fans just seemed like numbers on his Twitter and Instagram accounts until he saw a fraction of them in person decked out in merch and having paid way too much money for a concert. But it was hard to argue with numbers when he saw the proof in front of him, and when he realized every show Theodore was playing from now until his last leg of the North American tour in Atlanta two months from now and probably on his European leg too.

“What are you looking at?” Theodore whispered in his ear, resting his hands on Harry’s hips.

“Right here?” Harry asked tilting his head up to look at Theodore’s face.

Theodore smiled and pecked his lips quickly before backing away and raising his hands innocently, smile wicked. “How’s Tilly Holbourne?”

“About to murder some YouTuber,” Harry admitted, eyeing Theodore. His mouth went dry, and Theodore’s smile was suggestive, teeth biting into his bottom lip and eyebrow crooking up.

Mabel had a point about his clothes. The camouflaged jeans were ripped and torn, hanging low on his hips. His hair had been plaited back into two French braids with a leather snapback tugged on top of his head. A diamond stud glint in his ear, beaded bracelets on one wrist with a leather cuff on the other. His shirt was a sleeveless mesh shirt that hinted at his nipple piercings and showcased the stylized Anubis and Bastet tattoos that stretched up along his left and right sides and the stunning maple tree growing out of an anatomical heart on his shoulder blade.

It was probably more of him than his mother wanted to see. But Harry thought it was just the right amount of clothes that he’d have no problems stripping them off him later.

Or now.

“We don’t have enough time for that,” Theodore said in a whisper, even as he gaze trailed heatedly over Harry’s body. “That’s what you’re saying to me, right? Because we don’t. But we could make time,” he drawled pleadingly.

Harry stared at him for a moment, forgetting for a moment to breath as he genuinely considered Theodore’s pleading. After a moment, he shook his head with a shaky smile. Three days was not enough time. “You’re gonna get me in trouble,” Harry admitted in a whisper while Theodore nodded slowly and came closer to him, reaching out to hook his pink with Harry’s.

“Why?” He asked in a breathy whisper that was almost soundless, his every look a ghosted touch and movement a seduction. “I haven’t even dropped to my knees to suck you off the way I want to. I should get an award.”

“Award’s not really the word I would use,” Harry stated succinctly, licking his lips automatically. He gripped his hand into a fist to keep from touching. Theodore didn’t know when to stop, hooking his ring finger around Harry’s like he was being subtle.

“No?” He asked coyly, “What then? Because you shouldn’t tease. If you’re not gonna deliver.”

“Right here?”

“Right here. I mean don’t get me wrong, I’d probably regret it later, but honestly, we both know I’d let you.”

“That’s cause you’re easy, babe.”

“You can just call me a slut,” he said conspiratorially, finger tracing along Harry’s palm. He stepped closer, their breathing stuttered, eyes locked, and bodies pressed together deliciously dangerously. “But we both know I’d never let anyone else do what you do to me.”

And then rationality went out the window.

Harry cupped Theodore’s face dragging him into a brutal kiss. Their tongues met in a heady dance, both them moaning as Theodore gripped Harry’s waist in a fierce grip. A clash of teeth and tongues and lips, hands gripping each other like a hold too loose would see them slipping away like they’d never been at all, a heady, all-consuming passion that couldn’t happen right here, right now and yet showed no sign of subsiding, and Harry no longer had enough willpower to fight.

“Oh, okay,” a small voice said uncertainly. Harry and Theodore jerked a part, Harry tripping his own feet to back up. The stagehand tucked a lock of hair behind her ear looking anywhere but at them. “I can come back.”

Theodore reached out for him as he stumbled, but Harry held up a hand and shook his head. Immediately he though ‘NDA’ before backtracking and realizing the sheer number of people would probably saw them. Gag orders weren’t made for groups. The only way that many people could keep a secret was if they were all dead.

“Stay over there,” Harry told him sternly.

For a moment, Theodore blinked at him owlishly, eyes moving between Harry and the stagehand. Then he threw his hear back and laughed, shifting instantly from Theodore to Maverick. He held up his hands and smirked playfully. “This is your fault, man. What did I say? I said that I could make anyone swoon. Male. Female. I guess the list goes on now for quite a while now, doesn’t it?” He teased lightly, turning to the flustered stagehand who eyed them suspiciously. “Doesn’t it?” She blinked at him in shock. “It’s fine. I’m just very competitive, but Harry here held out as long as he could.”

“Brilliant you are,” Harry deadpanned. “Does it count as swooning if was taken by surprise? Warning would be great.”

“I’ll take it under consideration,” Theodore remarked lightly, turning to the stagehand who seemed to have recovered, her suspicion easing to something more like maternal reproach like he was a child who’s jokes were outrageous but not altogether harmful. “You needed me.”

“Yes,” she said smoothly. “Sound check and they need you in position.”

“On it,” Theodore nodded before swinging his gaze to Harry. He crossed his arms over his chest and watching Theodore warily. His smile softened to something more genuine. “I expect you to feed me afterward.”

“It’s your opening concert, don’t you have some obligatory thing with the crew?”

“Yes,” Theodore nodded, “but I have you for less than thirty-six hours without eyes and ears and cameras and fans. I’d rather apologize in steak, caviar, and champagne than have to pretend any more time wouldn’t end with me sucking you off under a dinner table surrounded by my crew, yeah?”

“So not food, then. Takeaway. And sex.”

Theodore grinned turning to where the stagehand waited for him a little ways away with Preston and the tour manager, Leo. “I mean you said it, not me,” Theodore teased taking the earpiece that was offered to him. He tucked it into his ear and followed where the crew led him to his entrance while Harry ignored Lysa’s furious glower.

He found his way out of the backstage and climbed the stairs to where Mabel and Curtis chatted with Rory and a woman who must be Harper Mizzani’s mother. Her Swedish boyfriend slumped low in his seat texting what Harry strongly suspected was another woman while Ty Lepolt’s current wispy groupie-turned-girlfriend flipped her hair over her shoulder, glaring at Marley Afwa who’d shown up with Kimberly Lakshmi, Ike, and Chloe Masters who’d worked with Theodore during his Disney days.

Marley tipped up her chin in greeting just before the lights flickered off fully sending the crowd into frenzied screams of excitement. Curtis rubbed his hand over Mabel’s back as she watched the darkened stage with her hands over her mouth and tears in her eyes.

Then the lights flash, and a guitar squealed, and the roar of the crowd increased two-hundredfold. Standing there beneath the spotlight amid the rolling smoke from the machine, Maverick stood at a mic stand, head bowed and fingers already tapping the rhythm of the song’s intro against his thigh.

He looked up.

The crowd went wild.

And Harry realized, fully, for the first time that this relationship could break him, and was far too late to start guarding his heart now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inisheer is a real island off the west coast of Ireland that I am in love with. You can't buy property on the island, only live there by inheritance of a preexisting home and they all speak Irish and host a clinic in the summer for kids not from the island to come learn the Irish language. It's so cool.


	19. "Figures" by Jessie Reyez

**Lil Elena (@lil_ellie97)**

#AwayForTheWeekendTour best thing ever and @MaverickOfficial tattoos (❁´ω`❁)

 

**Teddy Langston (@TM_1996)**

Goodbye for now…

 

**Maverick (@MaverickOfficial)**

San Jose…Oakland…Sacramento…so much Cali #howdoifeelaboutthis

 

**Reina <23333 (@reina_realzz)**

@MaverickOfficial well California girls are unforgettable ;)

 

**Meri Meri (@meriweather523)**

@reina_realzzz x_x stop ur embarrassing the #maveratics

 

**Text message from Harry**

**Harry:** Everytime I see pics ur wearing less and less clothes.

**Theodore:** Ok but is this really a problem

**Harry:** Let me clarify is if you dry hump a mic stand while running your hands over ur basically naked body like I saw u do in Vancouver I might actually kill you

**Theodore:** R u saying I’m too sexy

**Harry:** Ur driving me crazy from 8000mi away, u know?

**Theodore:** Fuck I miss you.

 

**Text message from Rory**

**Rory:** He’s not sleeping enough but he never does

**Rory:** He’s been writing a lot lately too and living off pasta and dr pepper

**Rory:** I mean he’s a mess but not more than usual

**Harry:** And Harper?

**Rory:** We’re trying but it’s wearing on him.

 

To: sterling.harry@dissidentmanagement.com

From: adelaide.johanna@dissidentmanagement.com

Subject: RE: RE: The Edmonton Video

Regardless of whether or not people believe that validity of that transcript, you can’t deny that Irial Grayson and Cris Emerson look like they’re together. When a girl makes a comment about deepthroating someone’s best friend that’s kind of a red flag. I know you’re over the Iri-Cris drama but you’re the only one who can make this go away.

Johanna

 

**Text message to Johanna**

**Harry:** I can’t make it go away. Let it die on its own. Why is this hard?

 

**Maverick (@MaverickOfficial)**

Chi-Town with @mizz_harper @tl&GreatDivide #funtimes #pizzzzza

 

**RT by @DorianII**

**Cris Emerson (@Cris_Emerson)**

Happy birthday to me best friend, flatmate, and most amazing person I know @DorianII so glad to have you in my life

 

**Irial Dorian (@DorianII)**

:'D I have the greatest friends in the world #grateful #ily

 

To: george.daniel@dissidentmanagement.com; sterling.harry@dissidentmanagement.com

From: sawyer.ashton@dissidentmanagement.com

Subject: The Phoenix Bar Video

When this video came out a week ago, we all foresaw that this would be a problem. At this point, it's gone viral at least amongst the fandom, major news sources haven't picked it up. I have had enough. People don't know what to think despite terrible audio someone is speaking over and the very poor quality of the video. This needs to be fixed immediately. We all warned Dorian about the consequences, and Harry, as you pointed out, you're the crisis manager...manage the crisis or we have no choice but to sue.

Ashton Sawyer

Dissident Management

 

**Text message to Harry**

**Rory:** Harper was a bad decision

 

**Text message from Theodore**

**Theodore:** You had so much fun without me

**Harry:** So did you.

**Theodore:** Rory told you. Traitor.

**Theodore:** It happened once. It won’t happen again.

**Harry:** Theodore

**Theodore:** I swear it fucked me up. It’s not going to happen again.

**Harry:** You know you can call me when you need to. I’ll answer.

**Theodore:** Will you?

**Harry:** My fun fucked me up

 

**Shocking success for the Daiki Company**

Friday saw the release of new consumer electronics that look like they belong in a _Star Wars_ movie...not even kidding. Highly anticipated for months, the delivery of online purchases has only made demand grow as celebrities from British DJs (such as Irial Dorian and Cherrie Taylor) to whole UK football clubs (such as Arsenal FC and Chelsea FC) to boybands spanning from the United States and Canada to Japan, centralized in Western Europe, have endorsed the recent product line. Electronic store in four countries reportedly sold out within a week. Now all we need is a store like the Apple store so we can play with Daiki Company's new products Congratulations to the next big thing, I'm in love with my new phone and laptop already.

 

**Maverick (@MaverickOfficial)**

Ngl this @TheDaikiCo. phone literally rocked my world

 

**Irish Rose (@rosieposie)**

Everyone needs to stop spamming me about #Crisial @Cris_Emerson isn't gay and @DorianII has a bf that he loves

 

**Interview with Spin Magazine**

**Q:** You’ve been on tour several weeks. All your shows sold out. What’s that been like?

**Maverick:** I can’t even lie, I love touring. It’s so exhilarating. I mean I’m always tired, and I really miss my own bed.

**Q:** And the person in it?

**Maverick:** I mean yeah! I’ve never really had that before, and it’s terrifying to think about all the things I can do right now to screw it up. All the things we can both do to screw this up. But we’re both committed to making this work despite the obvious difficulties, but I’m not going to pretend it’s been easy. That is what you wanted to know, right?

**Q:** I heard, though, that you were seen kissing a man before your concert in LA.

**Maverick:** Is that a question?

**Q:** Is it true?

**Maverick:** I’ve been waiting for someone to outright ask me. Yeah, it is. He’s one of my best friends, and we’re both assholes together. He was teasing me about all my female fans and my talent for making women swoon. I said I could make anyone swoon, and he disagreed. Challenge accepted.

**Q:** And what does your girlfriend think about this?

**Maverick:** Probably that we’re both idiots. That’s not untrue.

 

**hanoverhows1088**

Tell me we’re not going to have a bunch of crazed tinhatters now saying Maverick is gay

#hesnotgay #stop #maveratics

**texasprincess12**

Would it matter though? Do we care?

#idontcare #maveratics

**allyfromaustin**

WHY WOULD YOU WRITE THIS. THERES NOTHING WRONG WITH BEING GAY

#homophobia #fuckoff #maveratics

**chechelan2113**

But he’s not spaz so calm down. It’s homophobic to speculate that someone might be gay. What is wrong with you.

#realhomophobia #deluded #maveratics

**mayvyway51**

O.0 and so it begins

#tinhatters #maveratics #gaygaygay

 

**Maverick (@MaverickOfficial)**

There was Texas but okay: NeW oRleAnS #yassss #AwayForTheWeekendTour

* * *

 

“Do you know what you did? Do you even care?” Preston hissed at him softly.

Claire shot him an irritated look when he disrupted her.

“Are we still rehashing this? Harry and I talked about it. Addressing the rumor was better than trying to play it off as a lie. I agree with his strategy so I ran with it. Are we done?”

“Without authorization! You ran with it. And it shouldn’t have happened in the first place.”

Theodore waved Claire away and got to his feet. He snagged his beanie off the vanity. He pulled it over his head, hands shaking from both withdrawal and frustration. Harry had insisted that he reconsider Harper Mizzani, and he should have. Theodore didn’t have a history of cocaine usage on tour, but all it had taken was one night clubbing with Harper to put him off balance and being bored in Omaha to prompt him into taking her up on her offer and doing a couple lines after a show.

He’d come down hard but thankfully alone in his bed with Washington scowling at him from the corner. Angry as he was at himself and feeling the after shocks for the passed couple weeks, it had been a blessing in disguise. With Harry’s sudden all-consuming job negated the shitstorm that Cris and Irial stirred up and the time difference, Theodore hadn’t wanted to call him, afraid to interrupt him while he was busy. The lapse in judgment had led to a discussion about communication that resulted in him calling Harry every night sometimes not even to get off but just to hear each other breathe, sappy as that was.

And he was not about to be scolded about Harry when he missed him so fiercely.

“Am I supposed to apologize for being attracted to my boyfriend?”

Preston grimaced at the terminology while Theodore nodded his head pointed and stalked out of the dressing room hoping his manager didn’t follow him.

“Maverick!” He heard Preston call out from behind him. Theodore rolled his eyes and kept stalking down the hallway. “Maverick!” Preston shouted, grabbing Theodore’s wrist and yanking him around to hold his eyes. Theodore glared at him furiously, hands shaking and a cold sweat breaking out over his skin. He needed to not be doing this. Not here and not now. He needed peace and calm and Harry and music and not to be justifying his relationship to his manager however much he understood the motivations behind it. “You know the risks. And you’re just throwing them away—”

“I’m not,” Theodore said sharply, ending the conversation. “Harry knows the risks too. The world’s not ready for me to be out, and I’m not ready to be outed. Harry’s not ready to be outed. He lives in the shadows. God only knows how hard it was to deal with this album never mind if we were outed publicly as a couple. Don’t be ridiculous. You take care of Maverick. Harry will take care of me, and if that’s too difficult let’s not pretend Harry isn’t more than capable of handling your job too.”

Preston flinched back and gaped at him in shock, “Maverick.”

“I’m in love with him,” Maverick whispered brokenly. “And I’m a drug addict. You help me get cocaine when I need it so if you’re going to be an enabler don’t do things halfway.”

“Maverick, you know that’s not…” Preston started to sputter while Theodore shook his head.

He reached into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out a carton of cigarettes. They were terrible for his voice, but since marijuana was illegal, cocaine wasn’t an option, and alcohol was nowhere to be seen, he’d had to supplement his vices. He pulled out of the carton and popped it into his mouth, drawing out his lighter. Taking a deep pull off the cigarette, Maverick blew up into the air ignoring the clear ‘No Smoking’ sign pinned to the wall. He pointed the two fingers with the cigarette at Preston.

“Don’t,” he ordered coldly. “I’m going to screw this up all on my own some day. I don’t need your help, and I don’t need Lysa’s.”

The crew steered clear of him, recognizing both the black cloud that hung around him as visible as the wafting smoke from his cigarette. His hands had steadied somewhat enough that he’d pulled out his mobile phone, playing with the sleek new device thoughtfully trying to decide if he really needed to call Harry. How many times could he have these panicked ‘I need to use’ phone calls before Harry realized just how much work Theodore was?

Pressing his back against the chilly cinderblock wall, Theodore slid down to squat against it, tipping his head back and taking a long pull from the cigarette, watching the smoke wafting into the air. He’d always loved touring when he’d been alone. That wasn’t to say he didn’t love it despite longing for Harry with a soul-deep sort of pain he’d never thought himself capable of. But this time touring felt so fragile. Falling off the wagon in the past had ended with him waking up in stranger’s beds, no memory of the previous night, and a groggy, unsettling feeling for days afterwards.

This time if he fell off the wagon, then there’d be no Harry. That was Harry’s line in the sand and considering how much shit he weathered, that line was beyond fair.

Not fucking up his relationship was more pressure than he expected.

It would probably help if he’d just been trying to reform as a playboy instead of grappling with extreme highs, unbearable lows, withdrawal, lack of sleep, poor diet, borderline alcoholism, and an inability to regulate his own emotions in the face of external pressure. His habit of falling indiscriminately into the beds of whoever happened to walk passed him when he was that fucked up was really on a symptom of a larger problem.

Someone kicked his shoe, and Theodore took another pull from his cigarette before opening his eyes to peer up at Sean. His cousin peered down at him quizzically, hands in the pockets of his sweatshirt and eyebrows raised.

“Hey Sean.”

“Hey Teddy.”

“They’re looking for me?” He asked rubbing his forehead where the stress had coalesced into a massive headache.

“You know they are.”

“Who’s here?”

“Grandma, Gramps, your parents, Aunt May, Delilah and Trey, Elton, Terell, Aunt Dani, Wendell, Tamara and Uncle Sy, my mom,” Sean confessed with pity. Theodore sighed, and Sean patted him sympathetically on the head. “They promised Gran and Gramps they’d be on their best behavior.”

“How often does that work?”

Sean didn’t answer, only smiled awkwardly and helped Theodore get to his feet. They walked through the halls together; Theodore’s usually friendly crew side-eyeing him with trepidation while Sean glanced at them in confusion. The poor child had never been around Theodore when his mood plummeted and his desire for a fix was only on par with his desire to make grown men cry for their mothers.

Theodore found his family in a room that had been set-aside specifically for them, far enough away from the press rooms that they couldn’t over share but close enough that it didn’t look like he was hiding them. Catering had left them a generous banquet table for them to pick at so that they didn’t start in on each other, especially with Uncle Sy having jilted Kerianne out of what the family imagined to be ‘her spot’ and brought his barely legal wife instead. Also present was Chesapeake Maro who he’d only just come to appreciate why Harry had pinpointed her while simultaneously being worried.

Musically, they meshed well. Chesa with her messy waves of pale pink hair and Bohemian style, she looked like the epitome of her music skirting the lines between stylistic indie and synth electropop. Despite the fundamental differences in style, Chesa and Theodore talked music with the long rambling passion of soul-deep musicians. Their PR outings that had been happening sporadically throughout the tour almost inevitably produced a half finished song with the potential to be a hit. But she psychotically devoted to her pescetarian diet, bizarre protests, and intolerant of opinions that didn’t fall in line with hers.

Which Harry likely knew.

Which Harry likely assumed meant that one day they’d have a falling out of epic proportions the only question was why he’d wanted that.

Rocking on her platform heels as she sipped a bottle while keeping away from his family, her hazel eyes caught his. An amused smile spread over her lips. She tipped up her chin in greeting and tugged self-consciously on the hem of her polka dot mini dress. Recognizing her discomfort, he tipped his head towards the door giving her tacit permission to flee. The reporters probably already heard that she’d shown up to the concert and was hanging out with his family. Her presence had done its job, and though Harry had sent fairly pointed instructions that she had to stay for the whole concert, he’d also never said she had to be stuck like glue to Theodore’s family.

With a grateful smile, Chesa snuck from the room as his family turned to him.

Mabel edged through the crowd of her family, eyes falling on Theodore and the ripped jeans and Givenchy t-shirt with perforated sections but nothing at all like the translucent tank top he’d worn in Los Angeles. A relieved smile spread across her lips, and Theodore laughed as she rubbed a hand over his arm. “You know I support all your decisions, but I’m so glad you’re not wearing see-through clothes, sugar.”

“I know, Mama. Just for you.”

“For her?” Donna chirped where she lounged in a chair at the corner of the room beside Calvin, both of them sipping tea from actual porcelain mugs that they must have brought from home.

Theodore grinned at his grandmother. “For you, but I don’t want to make Mama feel unimportant.”

“You go on then,” Donna waved a hand dismissively. She tipped back her head to grin up at Curtis. “That boy is a charmer, hmm? Must be something all you Brits have in common.”

“I ain’t British,” Calvin remarked playfully.

Donna reached over to pat his hands. “Don’t I know it. And ain’t that a shame?”

“Mama,” Aunt May hissed, scandalized while Calvin laughed.

“So tell me,” Aunt Danielle said with genuine kindness and interest. “Are you still with that boy? The nice British one?” She asked tossing her mother an amused glance.

“Harry,” Sean supplied popping a cheese cube in his mouth. Aunt Jessica crooked her eyebrows at him, and Sean beamed impishly and shrugged his shoulders. “He’s a keeper, but Mom’s upset that he told me that he could get me an internship in London for coding and computer engineering. Konstantin Kimura-Petrov used to be his neighbor. Did you know that?”

Theodore had known that Salem was dating Bailey but hadn’t known that he’d lived next door to he and Rosie in Westminster. He told Sean as much while Sean bounced on his heels excitedly, clearly geeked out at the thought of Salem, though in the current climate who wasn’t? He’d basically become the next Steve Jobs with more ethnic diversity and piercings.

“Are you?” Aunt May demanded, looking over at Grandma and Grandpa. “I liked him. Knew how to cook. At least one person in a relationship should know how to cook, and we all know Theodore’s liable to burn down the house.”

“I’m not,” he started to argue, flushing, “but we are. Still together.”

Grandma nodded like this was the best news she’d heard in a while and looked over at her husband. He smiled serenely and held her hand tightly.

“Seriously?” Delilah scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest to study him with disbelief.

“What’s the problem?” Aunt May asked genuinely puzzled by her daughter’s ire.

“What the problem? He’s twenty-one! Closeted! And dating his publicist, what’s not wrong? I mean how stupid can you be? We all know you’re naïve Teddy, considering you’re upbringing it’s not like anyone’s surprised by your shitty taste in men and desperate need to be loved.”

Theodore felt himself hardening. He didn’t move, didn’t speak, only stared at her with his eyebrows raised waiting for her to go on.

Curtis blanched, lips pressing together tightly with barely restrained fury. He took a step towards her when Mabel caught him with a warning in her eyes.

“Delilah, that’s enough,” Aunt May said firmly.

“Is it?” Uncle Sy decided to join the conversation with a cruel expression on his face. “Are we going to keep pretending like he’s a child? Because he was broken as a child? Who does that help?”

Grandma raised her eyebrows at her son and dismissed him with a disdainful sneer and waved of her hand. “I’ve have quite enough of all you ungrateful brats. Sometimes ya’ll embarrass me beyond my wildest,” she lamented, rising to her feet. Grandpa followed behind her as she hobbled over to Theodore, interrupted her son’s rant. “Don’t you listen to them. They think they know what’s best but greed blinds everyone. Sylvester more than most, ain’t that right boy?” She asked tilting a vicious look towards her son. “Come on Calvin, let’s go to our seats before the kids start trouble.”

Calvin laughed, “Always, hon.”

Uncle Sy’s face purpled with rage, but unable to direct that fury at his mother, his gaze moved to Theodore. “You’ve always been desperate, bit your tongue so that the people in your life won’t leave and love you. Do you think that boy loves you? You think he’s going to stay with you? You think that when you’re off on tour for _months_ that he’s going to wait for you in London like a priest? You think _you’re_ capable of that because everyone here knows you’re not.”

“Fucking hell, Sy,” Aunt Jessica drawled coldly, shuffling Sean out the door. “What is wrong with you and Delilah? Is he never supposed to date, ever? Would that make everybody happy?”

Theodore ducked his head and narrowed his eyes on the floor. He felt the fury in him warring with own instinct to bite his tongue and take the hit. In that at least, Uncle Sy was right. He didn’t speak up so that people would love him, so that he wouldn’t alienate people in his life that he spent his life in terror that he would lose. But what made it worse was that they’d known and allowed him to continue on like that. Harry knew too and yet dragged every desire, every complaint, every snappish comment out of him.

“It would make _me_ happy if Theodore got his head together and stopped acquiescing to someone who’s using him. That boy’s going to bleed you dry, and you’ll just keep bending over for him because you’re so pathetically desperate for that attention. To feel like someone cares. It is you who bends over isn’t it? You don’t seem like the type, but you’re so emotionally shredded you must be.”

Theodore looked up at her as the room fell completely silent, stunned by Delilah’s shockingly explicit insult. Mabel moved her before Curtis caught his wife around the waist. Even Terell looked sickened by the comment. Aunt May stared at her daughter like she didn’t recognize her. Uncle Sy laughed while his wife raised her eyebrows indifferently, sipping her drink.

Nodding, Theodore started to turn to the door before stopping.

“That was so inappropriate for you to say,” Theodore said before he could stop the words. Turning back to face her, he stared at her astonished. “I mean I’m not an idiot despite what everyone seems to think. Do I really believe _Donna and Calvin_ needed almost two million dollars in the last few years? No. But I know that you and Elton needed tuition for Hannah’s school. Xavier and Danielle needed a new house. Wendell wanted to go to a football camp. And Aisha had car and loan payments. Sean needed a car, and Jessica was behind on mortgage payments. And Uncle Sylvester wanted his tween wife to have a wedding the Kardashians would envy. So you want talk about using people, let’s talk but you have no ground to stand on. I pay for your lifestyle and however much you tell yourself borrowing money from Grandma and Grandpa isn’t a handout from your gay popstar cousin, it is. Where do you think two retirees living off social security get that kind of money?”

The temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees, the sudden shiftiness on everyone’s face saying that they hadn’t expected that. He’d known even before Harry had stood over his accountant’s shoulder and combed through his accounts when he’d leaned Theodore had his accountant handle _all_ his funds.

“And by the way, it was so nice of no one to reassure me in seven years that they’d love me even if I didn’t force myself to be an opinionless barnacle on the face of this family but the boyfriend who’s using me called me out on it before we even had a relationship. Kind of like how no one’s mentioned in five years that I do cocaine on a regular basis, and then drown my cocaine-induced sorrows with alcohol so I’m bound to OD one day soon. It’s a miracle I’ve lasted this long. I’m only this functional because I’m neurotic about my music. Everyone was just waiting for me to die to get a piece of the pie, but since we’re all being honest, I left 95% of it to charities because I knew what you were after. I’m not naïve. And I’m not desperate. And I do shamelessly enjoy being fucked, but so do you Delilah so I don’t act so self-righteous about yourself. I think we’re done for today.”

“Teddy,” his mother started after him.

Aunt May whacked her daughter on the arm while Uncle Sy laughed again.

Theodore didn’t stick around to hear anyone’s excuses and lies. He wove through the hallways of the arena until he made it to the back door, shoving it open. A security guard at the fence looked back at him. He nodded his head at Theodore before turning away to give him some semblance of privacy.

On the verge of hyperventilating, Theodore lit another cigarette and dialed his phone with violently trembling hands.

“Babe? Isn’t your concert—?” Harry started when he answered, voice hoarse either from sleep or disuse.

“We’re not Cris and Irial,” Theodore couldn’t think of anything else to say.

Harry was silent for a minute before conceding, “Right…”

“So why can’t everybody just leave me alone about this?”

“Who’s ‘everybody’? Lysa? Preston? Your family?” Harry tried to parse out.

“Everybody! My family right _now_ , I guess, but Preston too. He and Lysa are pissed about how we handled Los Angeles.”

“Why? It’s not like your fans are debating if you’re gay. They’re still stuck on arguing about if speculation is a form of homophobia or if it’s homophobic to automatically assume you’re straight.” Harry said, his voice an audible eye roll.

Theodore relaxed a little, smile spreading across his face, “You checked.”

“Of course? I wouldn’t tell you to take such a risk, and then leave it to possibly implode all on your own.” Harry said with no pretense, almost offended by his surprise.

“My family says you’re using me,” Theodore admitted.

Utterly unphased by this confession, Harry stated plainly, “I’d say that’s probably the other way around. I get paid a lot of money to be a fixer, and you get my services for free.”

Theodore grinned and tipped his head back and willed himself to shake off the tension his family had piled on. “I have the premiere for _Shipwreck Compass_ during my break, and I agreed to collaborate with that Canadian DJ and a pretty prolific rapper during my break. Can you come out to see me?”

Harry laughed and admitted, “No, but I’ll make it work and find a way.” Theodore smiled, then sighed sensing the conversation was over. He needed to be visible and prepared to go on stage, which wasn’t possible with him hiding outside. “Teddy? I love you.”

Theodore’s hand rose to cover his face as he smiled, tears welling his eyes.

 


	20. "I Am" by James Arthur

**Chesapeake Maro and Maverick getting cozy**

Chesapeake had been spotted several times throughout the North American leg of Maverick’s Away for the Weekend Tour first in LA and later in her hometown of Seattle. They were spotted on a date in Las Vegas while Chesapeake was strutting the Strip with friends for her birthday, and most recently they were seen in New Orleans. She reportedly not only went to dinner with him afterwards but also met his family. “They’re very close,” a source revealed. “They’re both young and both talented. They’re music’s really want drew them together but they just want to take things slow.” That maybe but from the sounds of Maverick’s album, we’re thinking their version of slow must be very different than ours.

 

**Maverick (@MaverickOfficial)**

@RoarenAlaska says ‘it’s Nash-Vegas’ I didn’t get it. Now I do #ilovenashville

 

**Rory Tannen (@RoarenAlaska)**

@MaverickOfficial see! what did I tell you?

 

**Annie Cashum (@appleannieatl)**

@MaverickOffical is in #atlanta lord give me strength!

 

**Piper Delgado (@22PiedPiper)**

@MaverickOfficial just came into @DunkinDonuts for my morning shift. I almost peed myself #omg

 

**Piper Delgado (@22PiedPiper)**

and he gave me tix for the soldout concert when I said I couldn’t afford to go #dead

 

**Maverick (@MaverickOfficial)**

@22PiedPiper I feel like you shouldn’t tell ppl u almost peed yourself #notjudging #butjudginghard ;)

 

**Text message from Rosie**

**Rosie:** T minus 10 w/ ice cream, Iri, and Cherrie, and Cris, and Micah

 **Rosie:** Jfc can we kick them out

 **Rosie:** And there is pizza

 **Harry:** Pulling up Live PD now

 **Harry:** I will start without you

 **Rosie:** Fucker.

 

To: sterling.harry@dissidentmanagement.com

From: adelaide.johanna@dissidentmanagent.com

Subject: RE: Irial

Harry,

I have nothing to say about you going out of town in June but please I don’t want to deal with Irial and Cris. Please don’t make me deal with them.

Johanna

 

**Text message from Mama**

**Mama:** Teddy please answer the phone.

 **Mama:** Teddy please.

 **Mama:** They’re sorry you know they are.

 **Mama:** Grandma says you’ve been answering her phone calls

 **Mama:** You know that’s not why I didn’t say anything about the drugs.

 **Teddy:** Yeah I do. I’m not ready to discuss it.

 

**A relationship confirmation from Maverick and Chesapeake?**

While on break between tour legs, Maverick appeared on the red carpet for the premiere of steampunk movie, _Shipwreck Compass_ , in which he played space pirate, Davy Anatem, opposite Penney Dear. Despite expectations he’d walk the red carpet either alone or with Marley Afwa, Maverick shocked fans by bringing Chesapeake Maro with the pair in coordinating outfits. Though the pair artfully dodged questions, they confirmed that they were both writing and recording a song with Canadian DJ, Riverkin, while in California. Maverick’s notorious for never quite confirming his high profile relationships, but what’s more official for a celebrity couple than walking a red carpet together.

**Comments:**

**deejayrey:** Literally anything like, oh I don’t know, a CONFIRMATION

 **17_nixtherue:** Maybe he hasn’t confirmed because they haven’t been relationships? Maybe he doesn’t want his actual relationships becoming public fodder? Maybe?

 **Anonymous:** But he walks the red carpet with Alina Rosen and Marley Afwa all the time? And they’re basically like his bros?

 **angiegoeshard:** I can’t. I really can’t.

 

**Pharoah (@OfficialPharoah)**

Up in the studio with @MaverickOfficial @AmorAmerica #goodshit

 

**Group MMS Cris, Irial, Rosie, Cherrie, Micah, Dominic, Benji**

**Harry:** This is me going away for a week. Don’t fuck everything up.

 **Irial:** He’s so rude to you all.

 **Dominic:** Let’s not lie. He was talking to you.

 **Benji:** And Cris.

 **Cherrie:** The both of you.

 **Micah:** Together

 **Cris:** Rude!

 **Irial:** But @Rosie where is he going?

 **Rosie:** You’ll never get me to squeal!

 

**Text message to Harry**

**Mum:** I still haven’t heard back from you about Vi. I want an answer.

 

**Text message from Theodore**

**Theodore:** I’m here!!!!

* * *

 

Theodore would be the first to admit that the black truck idling on the curb outside Hartsfield-Jackson airport wasn’t the most conspicuous vehicle, but Washington had barely allowed him to drive on his own to pick up Harry at all let alone something smaller than a truck. The airport was its usual kind of busy, and Georgia was its usual brand of hot. And Harry stood outside the automatic doors clutching a duffel bag and looking like a typically disgruntled Brit being attacked by the sunlight.

His eyes moved to the truck, and he sighed visibly and started over.

Rolling down the window, Theodore grinned even over Harry’s scowl. “Could you be more conspicuous? People know you here.”

“It’s all Washington would let me drive,” Theodore admitted pouting, nearly bouncing on the seat from excitement.

Harry rolled his eyes and yanked open the back door to toss his bag in the empty backseat. When he climbed into the front seat, he kept his face turned away as he rolled up the window. Theodore waited until he sighed and turned around before reaching across the console to drag him into a heady kiss, breathing him in and hands touching him greedily. Their tongues tangled, and Theodore moaned at the taste of him.

Two months was way too long. Theodore had barely touched him, barely tasted him, and he was already dancing on the edge and ready to explode.

“Harry,” Theodore said into his mouth, hips rolling and desperate for friction. Harry pulled him into another deep kiss. “Harry, Harry please, I can’t.”

“You’re gonna get us arrested one day,” Harry said into his mouth with another kiss.

Harry’s hand skimmed up the column of his throat, making his overheated and over sensitized skin tingle. Theodore panted waiting impatiently. Harry wrapped Theodore’s small ponytail around his fist yanked up Theodore’s head slipped back. He closed his eyes and bit his lip, hips canting up desperately. His hands slid down Harry’s arms to grip his wrists with enough force they’d undoubtedly leave a bruise. His scalp stung, the position deliciously uncomfortable.

Lips moved over the column of his throat, teeth nipping at the skin, ending with Harry pressing a kiss beneath his ear. His breathing stuttered when Harry’s other hand dipped into his lap, pressing against his clothed erection. Theodore moaned and rutted desperately into the touch.

“You’re so much trouble, babe.” Harry whispered into his ear. Theodore smiled as Harry pressed a kiss to his throat before sinking his teeth into the delicate skin.

The bite went through him like a shock of electricity, body taut as a wire. His back arched, hips working against Harry’s hand, eyes rolling back, and coming with a hoarse cry. Into his pants. Like he was a teenager.

“Fuck,” Theodore groaned when he sank back into his seat, eyes shifting lazily to Harry.

He sat back, tossing his chin-length cinnamon hair out of his face. Pulling on his seatbelt, Harry released a long, controlled breath, erection evident in his tight pants. Harry shook his head and cleared his throat trying to regain his composure, Theodore grinned smugly. He tapped his hand against the dashboard of the SUV, eyes narrowing out the window. Hand shaking slightly, he gestured sharply to the road.

“Drive, little boy.”

“Are you making fun of me coming in my pants? I don’t have a problem with this.”

Harry looked over at him fighting a smile and laughing at the futility of the exercise. He tipped his head back and nodded. “I’m sure you don’t. And I’d never make fun.”

“Liar,” Theodore stated, checking the traffic before pulling into the travel lane and following the road towards the highway. “It’s good to see you.”

“Apparently,” Harry teased, tone deadpan. “You get high two or three days ago?”

Theodore grimaced and sighed, glaring out the window. He should have known that Harry would know. Throughout the whole tour Harry had had Washington, Rory, Claire, and Marceline giving him reports on Theodore’s health in a move that surprised Theodore not at all.

Harry hadn’t said a word when Theodore had told him that Pharoah had asked to collaborate on a song with him and America Castillo. Both of them were prolific in Atlanta’s hip-hop scene and both of them liked to party. Pharaoh had been arrested for drug possession and public intoxication more than once, and his parties were almost as legendary as his baby mama drama, which Theodore had had a front row seat to on the first day he’d been in Atlanta. America Castillo was a reggaeton-pop artist with a drinking problem; she swore she only used drugs and drank socially, but Theodore had yet to see proof of it.

Their days were straightforward work, but by the time the sunset, Pharoah’s mansion in Buckhead had already turned into some Gatsby-style party pad with alcohol, drugs, and enough temptation that he’d been finished before he even got to the party. He’d at least been of a mind not to drink, or, more specifically, Washington had been smart enough to drag him away before the alcohol really kicked in. Because even though Theodore hadn’t been attracted to the girls who’d been twined around him all night, attraction had never mattered when the drugs and alcohols kicked in together.

“Nothing happened,” Theodore insisted, cursing when he missed the turn-off for the highway, too distracted by their conversation to concentrate.

Sighing, Harry plucked his phone out of the cupholder. He keyed in the code and typed in the address to the hotel, lips pursed and face blank. Theodore grimaced at his silence; his eyes took in the rundown College Park, which even Pharoah had warned him about half-jokingly but also with enough sincerity to worry Theodore a little. Especially now that he was lost.

“That is not what I asked,” Harry said finally.

Theodore wet his lips nervously. Of course he knew that. If something had happened, Harry would have known about it before Theodore did. He rarely remembered his drugged out encounters, getting the story either from Rory or Washington when he came to. If something had happened, Harry never would have left the shitstorm of epic proportions brewing amongst his clients in London to see him Atlanta. If something had happened, Harry probably wouldn’t have even answered the phone.

“Two days ago.”

Harry nodded silently, face expressionless. Theodore looked over at him nervously, and he snapped, “Keep your eyes on the road.”

Theodore rolled his eyes and shook his head slightly. “You knew what you were getting into with me.”

“Is that your way of saying I’m supposed to be okay with this shit? That I can’t still be angry about you getting high with a bunch of rappers who use their arrest records to boost their album sales? Is that what you’re telling me right now?” Harry demanded coldly.

“No,” Theodore answered curtly.

“Then what? What Theodore? Don’t sit there and pretend like you don’t have some fucked up opinion when you obviously do. Let’s hear junkie logic, go ahead.”

Theodore looked over at him sharply, hands gripping the wheel tightly enough that it groaned under the pressure. “I’m sorry did I use in front of _you_?”

“You use in front of me all the time. So what is your point right now, Theodore? What the fuck—” Their argument died as a police car pulled up behind them, sirens on and lights flashing. Harry sank into his seat, kicking the floor of the car and rolling his eyes, “Son of a bitch.”

Theodore glanced over at him silently as he pulled the car into a gas station parking lot off of the main road. Harry didn’t look at him, chin rested on his fist and eyes gazing out the window. Sighing, he rolled down the window as the cop came up to the car.

The first thing he noticed was the K-9 Unit patch on his uniform, and the second was how young he was. Maybe in his mid-twenties, older than them certainly but not by much. His caramel hair was undercut, the longer strands on top slicked back. There was a chain most likely with dog tags around his neck, and gray eyes weren’t hard like he’d done something wrong, but they were suspicious the moment Theodore’s eyes met his. The tag on his shirt had the name ‘Crosby’ engraved on it.

“Hey folks,” Crosby said in a slow southern drawl. Harry didn’t look over but inclined his head slightly in greeting. The officer’s eyes slid back to Theodore’s cooling in response to the tension, “License and registration please.”

“Sure,” Theodore said quickly. Hands shaking, he opened the console to pull out the rental agreement and his wallet. Harry looked over at him, turning his head slowly to stare at Theodore like he’d had a chilling realization. Theodore couldn’t meet his eyes, clearing his throat and pulling out his ID to hand it over. The officer examined his license and nodded his head.

“Do you know why I pulled you over?”

Theodore pursed his lips and shook his head slightly. “No sir.”

Crosby raised his eyebrows and put his hands on his hips. His gaze rested speculatively on Theodore who shifted uneasily. “I pulled you over because your taillight’s out. But I’m gonna level with you, okay? You tell me what you have on you, in the car, drugs, weapons, whatever it is, and I’ll work with you. You tell the truth, or this will not go, you understand me.”

Theodore grimaced and let his head fall back against the seat rest.

Harry glared at him. “Tell me you don’t,” he ordered with darning horror.

“What do you have on you?” Crosby asked almost sympathetically, eyes moving between Harry and Theodore.

“Tell me it’s not cocaine,” Harry said in an arctic tone. Theodore looked over at him. “Cocaine possession in Georgia is a mandatory two year minimum sentence, Theodore. Tell me you don’t.”

Theodore swallowed and looked over at the cop. “I don’t. It’s marijuana.”

“Okay,” Crosby said sternly, “I’m gonna need you to step out of the car, sir.”

* * *

 

“Hey.”

Harry looked up from his head rested in his hands. The cop who’d stopped them stood in front of him, his mostly black German Shepherd sat at his feet, one ear poking up and the other folded over. Dakota Crosby smiled at him slightly and sat down in the chair beside his. He offered Harry a cup of coffee that he took with a shaky smile and a nod of his head. The dog nuzzled his hand, and Harry laughed a little, stroking a hand over the dog’s head, and took a sip of his coffee, sputtering.

Dakota laughed and nodded, sipping his own. “I know, it’s terrible.”

“It’s the thought that counts,” Harry scoffed.

“Tell that to the asshole who buys the coffee.” Dakota retorted lightly, leaning back in the seat and holding Harry’s gaze. “I know who he is. And here’s the rundown: the dog didn’t hit on anything in the car. There was nothing but the marijuana that he had in his wallet. There was about half a gram, which is good. Anything less than an ounce for a first time offense is either a one-year sentence or a thousand dollar fine. That’s not up to me. That’s up to DA.”

Harry sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “And how likely is that with him being a cokehead?”

Dakota laughed a little, looking slyly over at Harry. “I like you. I even like him. He a bit of a breakdown in holding,” Dakota admitted.

“I bet he did,” Harry said smugly. He shouldn’t be thinking that his boyfriend deserved a good hard scare, but this couldn’t continue. And Harry couldn’t live in perpetual fear that his boyfriend blacked out or died at an overdose or screwed random person while he was off his face. He’d be going to foreign countries and carried illegal narcotics in his wallet. Going to jail in South America or Asia would be considered worse than a two-year drug charge in Atlanta.

“The DA doesn’t need to know since there’s no evidence of that,” Dakota promised. Harry let out a long breath and nodded his head. “I called the ADA. I know her, and she can help you…keep this discreet?” Harry nodded his head gratefully. “But he needs help. My little sister loves him. He’s Thailand and Columbia and China. He can’t have drugs in his wallet. You know how dangerous this is.”

“He doesn’t want help right now. And you know that as long as he doesn’t want to stop, nothing’s going to change.” Harry admitted with a defeated laugh. He ran a hand through his hair.

“And how long do you think _you_ can handle this?”

Harry looked over at him sharply to find Dakota sipping his coffee with a genial expression on his face. That was a look of a man who knew what he was inferring and expected honesty. “I don’t…we’re not…I’m a publicist.”

“Let me stop you right there. He lied to me too about that. The man gives up marijuana. You give up his cocaine addiction, but both of you will lie about your relationship. I don’t know if that’s love or stupidity, but it’s definitely unhealthy.” Harry opened his mouth to argue, though he didn’t necessarily disagree. Dakota crooked an eyebrow, and Harry sighed choking down another sip of coffee. “Whatever it’s not my business, but something to think about.”

Laughing Harry met Dakota’s eyes. “This is my first time seeing him in two months.”

“Today?”

“Today.”

“That’s fucked up,” Dakota said meeting Harry’s eyes before they both devolved into laughter. The dog cocked his head at them, tail wagging uncertainly. He patted the dog’s head. “You’re a good girl, Khaleesi.”

Harry pursed his lips and tipped his head. “You named your dog Khaleesi?”

“Is that a bad name? She’s a strong, independent female.”

“You mispronounced bitch,” Harry teased, both of them laughing again.

“I’m sorry, you didn’t tell me this was a date,” a cool female voice droned with blatant irritation. Both of them turned to find a slim black woman standing behind them with her arms crossed over her chest, eyes narrowed, and toe tapping against the linoleum. She looked like she just stepped off the runway, her dreadlocks hanging below her shoulders, top half of her hair clipped back away from her face.

“Kennedy.”

“Dakota,” she purred coldly, glancing between them. “Who’s this?”

Harry stood up and offered her a hand. “I’m Harry Benton-Sterling.”

“Ah, a Brit,” she purred, giving Dakota a hard look. “Right up your alley.”

“Okay,” Dakota said with a laugh. “Kennedy, this is Harry, Maverick’s publicist. Harry, this ADA Graves, my ex-fiancée. Which you could probably tell by the bitterness.”

“Ah,” Kennedy said, nodding slowly. She inclined her head, “Come talk to me in the back. Both of you.” She looked down at the dog, and her face suffused with warmth, a smile curling the corners of her lips. “You too, Khaleesi.” The dog barked happily. Kennedy turned on the heel of her shoe and marched down the hallway expecting Dakota and Harry to follow her.

She led them to a small room in the back with a square table.

Theodore already sat there shaking nervously. His head dart up when they walked in the room, eyes landing on Harry with naked relief. He started to stand before thinking better of it and settling back down, eyes remain on Harry. Against his better judgment, Harry softened and moved towards him, running his fingers through his hair slightly before sitting down beside him, taking his hand and pressing a kiss to the back with a long-suffering sigh. Theodore relaxed somewhat, still looking guilty.

Dakota cleared his throat as he sat down in the seat across from them, face carefully bland. He took a sip of his coffee, dog lying at his feet breathing out with a sigh and settling his head on his paws. His eyes slid slowly over to Kennedy whose eyebrows arched consideringly, eyes moving between the two of them.

“Publicist, huh?” Kennedy inquired, throwing a dark look to Dakota.

He shrugged his shoulder and sipped his coffee. “I mean that’s what I was _told_.”

“Of course it was,” Kennedy agreed, reaching down to pull a file out of her briefcase. She opened it on the table and laced her hands together. Her eyes moved between Harry and Theodore, gaze lingering for a moment on their intertwined hands before she nodded her head and cleared her throat. “I had a look at your case file, talked to the judge before I came here about the…sensitive nature of the case,” she narrowed her eyes on Theodore for a moment, and he shifted uncomfortably beneath that gaze. “Judge Lowes is not in the habit of giving smalltime sentences just because people are famous. This is Atlanta. We’ve got rappers running dope and using cocaine and taking their baby mamas to court for using in front of the kids. That’s Atlanta.”

Theodore swallowed anxiously, squeezing Harry’s hand tighter.

“However,” Kennedy said, “you weren’t operating under the influence. You had less than an ounce obviously intended for personal use. No priors. Not even a point on your license. And Dakota here is beloved by judges and attorneys and police officers throughout the state. So because you look like a mega-famous Boy Scout and taking into account your schedule, Judge Lowes has agreed to a thousand dollar fine, twenty hours of community service, and sealing the file so it can’t be accessed by the public. Paparazzi included. Sound fair?”

“Probably more than fair,” Theodore squeaked out uncertainly.

Kennedy nodded in agreement and rose to her feet, looking down at Dakota who lounged in his seat despite her glare. She kicked the leg of his chair, and he looked up at her. “Since you’re so invested in this, you can find a place for him to serve his community for the next week and log his hours.”

“You spoil me,” Dakota teased, not nearly as affected by this acrimonious breakup as Kennedy.

She scoffed while Harry and Theodore shared twin looks of disbelief. Turning to Theodore, she pointed a finger at him. “I know there’s more to this than marijuana. There always is. Keep that shit in your home because the next time your file winds up on my desk, I’ll personally advise the judge not to be lenient. Are we clear?”

Theodore nodded meekly.

Kennedy looked down at Dakota and snorted, slapping the back of his head with her file. The dog leapt to its feet, lips pulled into a snarl, but Kennedy didn’t flinch.

“ _Platz,_ ” Dakota ordered, and Khaleesi lay back down automatically, ears twitching and eyes following Kennedy’s exit as her tail wagged.

Theodore and Harry blinked at him owlishly.

The cop only nodded sagely. “Congrats, you have community service. It’s okay. I know just the place. We can all be in this together…well, when I’m not on duty.”

Harry and Theodore exchanged looks but nodded. What else was there to say?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I did an incredible amount of research about police dogs for this scene. Dakota talks to his dog in German, which is actually what most police dogs are trained to take commands in. I was intending for Theodore to be caught with cocaine, but while I was researching it's a mandatory minimum year jail sentence in Atlanta for possession of cocaine. Less than a certain amount of marijuana is either a fine or jail at discretion of the arresting officer so getting let off for this is not totally outside the realm of possibility, and quite honestly it's too soon to force Theodore into sobriety.


	21. "Say It To My Face" by Maty Noyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spoiler alert for Game of Thrones Season 7, I warn you in advance. I totally dropped the Jon Snow birth secret at least partially but if you haven't had someone tell you his parentage by now they you have good friends.

**Maverick takes a break to save animals**

Popstar Maverick never seems to stop working. He used the break between his tour legs to attend the premiere of his movie, _Shipwreck Compass_ , do cast interviews for promo, and participate in two collaborations. One of those collaborations with rapper, Pharoah, and reggaeton singer, America Castillo, took him to Atlanta, Georgia where he’s expected to remain until flying out to Dublin. He took his few week break to apparently volunteer at Lifeline Animal Project in Fulton County to help bring get cats and dogs into their forever homes. Aww, if that isn’t enough to make our hearts aflutter, he also reportedly had a barbeque for the Fulton County Police Department the evening before flying out to Dublin and bought them a Keurig to say thank you for all of their hard work.

> **Comments:**
> 
> **Anonymous:** Well…that’s kind of weird…

 

**Text message from Dakota**

**Dakota:** Get the boy a pet.

**Harry:** You mean get me a pet cuz it will be staying with me

**Harry:** My life is cannot handle a poorly behaved animal

**Harry:** Like my neighbor’s cocker spaniel. No thank you & I have no time to train something

**Dakota:** It might be good for him.

**Harry:** I hear you but it’s still a no.

**Dakota:** I have an idea. I’ll get back to you.

**Harry:** Awesome.

 

**Shannon (@HillsofShannon)**

Dublin, Cork, Galway, and Belfast!!!! @MaverickOfficial out here showing Ireland mad love #soexcited #galwayconcert

 

To: sterling.harry@dissidentmanagement.com

Cc: preston.duke@godfreygroup.com

From: lysa.thomas@godfreygroup.com

Subject: RE: Atlanta Arrest

I know we’ve had our issues in the past but I do want you to know I respect and admire your abilities. I’m so incredibly grateful that you managed to clear up the charges in Atlanta without news of that arrest landing in the press.

Best,

Lysa Thomas

The Godfrey Group, PR

 

**Text message to Harry**

**Violet:** I don’t know how you managed it

**Violet:** But thank you so much!

**Violet:** You’re the best brother ever!

**Violet:** Best birthday ever!

**Violet:** But I will see you, right? You’ll come see me?

**Violet:** On the day, to be clear.

**Harry:** Lol Vi, of course

* * *

“I have a suspicion,” Johanna said, slamming the door to her car shut. She looked surprisingly casual in a long-sleeved crop top and checkered cigarette trousers, her box braids hung free to her back, nails manicured like she was walking the runway instead of going to a concert. Better than Rosie and Cherrie who’d attended the first of Theodore’s London concerts with Irial and Breaking Fourth both dressed in the tour tees like proper fangirls. She leaned against the roof of the bright red Peugeot and grinned at Harry.

Harry checked his mobile phone, tucking it in his back pocket and raising his eyebrows at Johanna. She’d been playing this game since Harry had gotten back from Los Angeles over two months ago, and the game had yet to die. Not that he could fault her for her curiosity. Despite being swamped with everything that was Breaking Fourth, the internal drama of Scarlet Letters, Diana Hawthorne’s image rehab after her disastrous comments to Maverick, Dali Crusoe’s ongoing feud with baby mama, and now Seth Boston’s homophobic comments stemming from his apparent addiction to heroin, he still made time for weeklong trips to America.

Where he had no friends and no family.

“Want to hear it?” Johanna asked him conspiratorially.

Narrowing his eyes on his phone, he grunted noncommittally. Apparently, Dali Crusoe’s baby mama wanted to negotiate for primary custody of their daughter in agreement to drop the lawsuit. Dali had no intention of giving it, and Harry agreed since he knew well that the lawsuit was one they could win. Diana Hawthorne thought giving back to her fans would help clean up her image; he rolled his eyes at that one. Seth Boston wanted to go to rehab, which was about the best news Harry had heard all day. Cris and Iri had been spotting together—again.

“Is the world imploding?” Johanna asked, hooking her arm through his as they walked towards the O2 Arena.

Harry shook his head. “Nah, your celebrities are just so exhausting. Also you need to tell Michael Coheler to stop telling Dali to settle with Myrcella. He settles with her when we can win, and she spends the next twelve years in a bitter custody battle poisoning that kid against him.”

Johanna’s eyebrows rose. “Know that from experience?”

“Are we talking about me? No?” Harry teased, guiding her away from the main entrance where thousands of excited fans chattering excitedly started through the metal detectors to their seats. Johanna blinked at him in surprise when he took her around to the secondary entrance that would let them in the areas fans weren’t meant to access. He pulled the lanyard and pass out of his pocket, showing it to the security.

The man tipped his chin up towards Johanna. “’E know ‘bout ‘er?”

“Yeah, this is my boss, Johanna.”

“I know you came yesterday, but what the hell Harry? I thought they got you in.”

Harry crooked an eyebrow as they started down the hallway. “I thought you had a suspicion.”

Johanna sputtered and exclaimed, “But I didn’t think it was true! All this time, shagging one of the biggest popstars on the planet? Christ, Harry what kind of friend are you?”

“The kind who works for you,” Harry pointed out, show the badge again before the doors were opened to the backstage.

Scarlett Letters was a big deal in the UK and Europe, getting bigger everyday even in America now that Tilly Holbourne’s ex had put them on the map. But they’d seen the writing on the wall of touring with one of the biggest names in the world right now. They’d agreed to open for him provided that they had the whole opening act performing a longer set than if he’d had two smaller names. Ani Tiernan stood nearby talking to Dali Crusoe—flirting really—but Dali looked wary, obviously having enough crazy not to delve into those waters. Both of them had shown up for the London performances and would for a few more in Europe to sing their collaborations with Theodore.

“I think I’m gonna hyperventilate,” Johanna said, fanning herself.

Harry looked over at her in disbelief. “You work with celebrities every day.”

“Not Maverick! My God, he’s twenty-one and already basically a legend. I don’t care what he says, he was robbed at the Brit Awards.”

Harry sighed and said dryly, “That _is_ what he says.”

“Good.”

“You’ve met him before.”

“Professionally!” Johanna exclaimed, voice shrilly. “This is not professional. This is me coming with you to this shindig because you’re a good friend and didn’t want to come alone to your sister’s sweet sixteen since Rosie’s on a date.”

“Are you gonna fangirl this whole time?”

“Maybe. Possibly. Oh my Lord, I should have had a drink. You should have warned me!”

Harry side-eyed her with trepidation. “Yeah, well, I hadn’t expected things to turn out like this. Have you no shame?”

“Harry!” A woman called out a moment before he was greeted with an armful of Alina Rosen, her thick mane of hair winding up in his mouth. He sputtered, and she backed away, holding up her hands in a gesture of innocence. “Sorry, sorry, my bad, sorry. The hair’s getting away from me these days.”

“You need a haircut,” Shahnaz Attar teased, following with Mizra. He tugged on a lock of her hair with an indulgent smile while Alina swatted him away playfully. “It’s everywhere these days. But she insists it’s necessary.”

“We can’t all be Selena Gomez,” Alina defended, crossing her eyes like she’d grown tired of the argument. “What will I look like if I cut my hair?”

“Alina with shorter hair?” Mizra posited thoughtfully.

“Oh ho, someone’s funny,” Alina said, swatting out at him while Mizra danced out of the way with a grin. “Don’t run. Come back!” Alina called, pausing to wave goodbye before she took off out of him, nearly running into Yasmin and Javed in the process who stood talking with Penney Dear, faces alive with awe and interest.

Shahnaz raised his eyebrows and shook his head with a long-suffering sigh, but the smile on his lips said that he didn’t mind the antics. From what Harry knew Shahnaz had been openly pansexual in uni before reclaiming the closet when the band’s fame blew up. From what else Harry knew, he’d been dating Alina months before they’d been scouted and hadn’t wanted to stop dating her despite their management’s concerns about her gender identification. Shahnaz had been dating her before that, and Theodore had been friends with her before she even understood what that meant.

Not that he knew the extent of Harry’s knowledge, but someday Theodore would probably spill to get that whole band to wash their dirty laundry. Not any time soon, though, but thankfully, Alina’s mood towards her boyfriend seemed much improved without the presence of his PR girlfriend.

“Where’s Maverick?” Harry asked.

Shahnaz turned and smiled slyly. “We both know you can call him Theodore. And he’s meeting your sister.”

Harry stiffened, mouth falling open slightly. “What?”

“He said you’d freak out, but even Preston had no complaints. What did you do to make _that_ happen because that man is anal about Theodore’s sexuality?” Shahnaz asked lazily while Mizra coughed into his fist, hiding his amused grin.

Harry huffed and beelined for Rory where she walked with her head bowed over her tablet.

“Where is he?” Harry demanded as Johanna kept pace with him, watching the whole thing like she wanted a bag of popcorn.

“ _They_ are in the room around the corner.” Harry started towards it when Rory caught his arm. “Be nice, please. He knew you’d be upset, but he also knows how much you love your sister. He wanted to do a nice thing for her.”

Harry shook his head dazedly as Rory let go to walk away. He ran his hands through his head and pursed his lips together. “I’m going to explode,” he stated while Johanna laughed, keeping pace as he marched to the door. He thrust his hand out to grip the latch, but only opened it gingerly, creeping inside with Johanna at his heels.

The first thing he saw was Theodore. He sat cross-legged on the floor in £100 black jeans and a Live PD shirt that had been eviscerated into a muscle tee. His hair had been piled up in a messy bun on the top of his head, glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose as a group of sixteen year old girls taught him how to weave friendship bracelets while discussing _Stranger Things_ , _Ethereal_ , and _Game of Thrones_ interchangeably. The intricate mandala he’d had tattooed on his hand was red from irritation, but Theodore kept at it nonetheless. Washington stood in the corner near Preston, both of them watching him with bemused expressions.

Violet looked the spitting image of their mother, a pear shaped and somewhat dumpy sixteen year old, hunching in on herself like she was uncomfortable with her height. There was a remaining layer of baby fat on her cheeks, hair a couple shades darker than Harry’s twisted up in a long ponytail. She had their mother’s brown eyes, and her father’s pert nose. And she looked entirely uncertain in her own skin.

Conversely, their mother, Lindsay, stood beside another woman, a second chaperone, owning her curves in a pair of nice jeans and a pretty navy blouse. Her own dark hair had been cut short, curls bracketing her plump cheeks and strong chin, making her look chic rather than stout. Her lips were crimson, eyes lined in thick black mascara and eyeliner that managed to make her dark eyes pop.

“Listen,” Theodore explained to one girl, “Jon Snow is the prince that was promised. End of. They thought they were throwing in a curveball by saying ‘well it could also be a woman’ but that’s some bullshit. It’s Jon Snow.”

“Okay, but why is his name Aegon Targaryen? Riddle me this,” another girl said.

“Yeah, why would you name your mistress’s son after your wife’s son who—as far as he knew—was still alive.”

Theodore nodded sagely, “That’s absolutely twisted.”

Johanna inhaled deeply and fanned herself. Her hand gripped Harry’s arm tightly as she gushed, “Holy fuck, that’s Maverick.”

“Okay,” Harry said shaking his head at her. If he’d known she was a total diehard fangirl, he wouldn’t have brought her no matter the amount of begging. Rosie and Cheryl were bad enough. Now his boss couldn’t exist in the same room with his boyfriend without devolving into hysterics.

At the sound of his voice, Theodore looked up and smiled, “Harry.”

“You’re here!” Violet exclaimed with a delighted squeal, abandoning her favorite popstar to throw herself in his arms and hug him tightly. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, barely sparing their mother a glance before his gaze returned to Violet. “You didn’t tell me you knew Maverick, you big liar.”

“Who lied? I got you tickets. You never asked how,” Harry said. His eyes moved to Theodore who watched them fondly. “And you never said you’d be doing arts and crafts with the teens.”

Theodore shrugged, “You wouldn’t have approved. I thought it was better to ask forgiveness than permission.”

“What do you think penance is going to look like for you?” Theodore went taut at the questions, eyes dilating automatically while Harry laughed and turned back to Violet. “He’s a big knob. Everyone seems to think he’s this great big celebrity, but you’re just an absolute tosser, aren’t you, Mav?”

“Must be,” Theodore finally managed to get out. His eyes refocused on Johanna, brows furrowing in confusion. “You must be the boss. Johanna Adelaide?”

Johanna sucked in a harsh breath while Harry sighed. She leaned into Harry and whispered excitedly, “Maverick knows my name.”

“I know.” Harry answered, pushing her away with the tip of his pointer finger. Theodore raised his eyebrows at them curiously. Their eyes met and Harry shook his head pointedly while Theodore smirked. “I told him, Jo.”

“I might die.”

“Lord save me,” Harry lamented.

“Thanks for my birthday present, Harry,” Violet said, smiling up at him joyfully, her whole face lighting up radiantly when she smiled. He didn’t remember his sister ever look so sad, ever seeming so uncomfortable. She’d been a vibrant child, and the last time he’d seen her, she’d been convinced she wanted to become a veterinarian and could name every bone in a dog’s body and had been half through work on cats. “Will you come out to dinner with me and mummy after? Please?”

Harry hesitated before looking up at his mother. She arched an eyebrow and crossed her arms over her chest, stare a direct challenge that he had no intention of taking her up on.

He wasn’t necessarily mad at Theodore for usurping the gaggle of teen girls to entertain. They’d discussed Violet before the tour even started, reserving the tickets for her and some friends and chaperones before tickets ever went on sale. But even then, Harry knew it would piss his mother off. Lindsay Sterling somehow operated under the assumption that Harry wanted to bribe her family out from under her, a karmic fear from a woman who’d thrown away her first marriage and child without a second thought. Having Theodore acknowledge that relationship and treating Violet like family had likely only been salt on an ugly wound that had nothing to do with Theodore or even Harry really.

“I can’t tonight. I have, uh, work. But next time we’ll grab some Nando’s yeah?”

Violet grinned and leaned closer to Harry. “We can’t bring mum. She won’t let me have Nando’s anymore. Says it’s not good for my girth.”

Harry reeled back as if struck and gaped at his mother. His eyes returned to Violet who suddenly looked uncertain. “You’re not fat. A little chubby but nothing some time, a growth spurt, and less After-Eight mints before bed won’t fix.” Harry said, keeping his tone light and making her laugh. “You’re beautiful, you know. You look just like mum.”

“Really?” Violet asked plaintively, voice quiet, and Harry’s heart broken at the doubt in that tone.

The door opened, and Rory peeked her head in. “Hey, it’s about to start. Should I show everyone to their seats?” The girl waved dejected goodbyes to Theodore while Lindsay and the other chaperone shook his hand and thanked him profusely. Violet skipped back to him, tying a friendship bracelet around his wrist while he reciprocated, the two of them smirking before she returned to her mother. Harry nudged Johanna out the door after them, Theodore laughing as she tried to remain behind until Rory scolded her for setting a bad example.

Theodore sidled up to him, gripping his wrist until Washington and Preston slipped out, closing the door behind them. He tangled their hands together, and Harry pulled him into a long, slow kiss.

“I’m sorry,” Theodore whispered earnestly.

Harry shook his head. “It’s not…you don’t need to be sorry. I’m not angry. It’s just, my mother, gets irrational about me doing things for her kids. Like she’s afraid I’m trying to stealing their love from her.”

“That’s bizarre.” Theodore stated incredulously.

“Yes, but thank you,” Harry said. Theodore smiled shyly, and Harry placed another kiss against his lips. When he pulled back, he lifted Theodore’s right hand and examined the redness critically. “You should have kept this wrapped a few more days,” Harry scolded him.

“I can’t perform with plastic on my hand.”

“Can’t or won’t?” Harry retorted. Theodore’s expression was mulish, and Harry chuffed. “If it was going to be a problem, then you shouldn’t have gotten a tattoo.”

“But you were getting one, and I was getting off on watching you get one, so then I figured I might as well just get one.”

“One? You got two!” Harry replied.

His sudden jaunt to the tattoo parlor after Theodore’s first London show the night before had ended with him getting a tattoo on his right shoulder blade of a black dragon sitting on the earth and holding the moon with his tail. Theodore had responded with not just the mandala but also a Jedi order symbol on his ankle.

“Are we doing dinner tonight?” Theodore changed the subject laughing.

“Where do you want to go?”

“Nando’s,” Theodore confessed after a moment with a cheeky smile.

Theodore was not a fan of British food. His fall back tended to be pasta smothered in creamy sauces, Domino’s, or Nando’s, which seemed the only places that he could stand on a regular basis.

“So romantic we are,” Harry teased while Theodore laughed and pressed another kiss to his lips.

“Are you okay?” Theodore whispered against his lips.

“Yeah, I’m glad I saw her. I just didn’t expect her to look like that.”

“Like what?” Theodore inquired curiously, but there was a graveness to his expression that spoke of a past he didn’t like to remember. He saw that misery in other people, children especially.

So Harry didn’t lie. “Sad. I didn’t expect her to look so sad.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't forget you. Second semester at uni had me dipping deep into depression for a minute. I wallowed, I'm back, I apologize. I will update this often but I lied Monday, Wednesday, and Friday is probably not going to be the way because I have class Mondays and work Fridays which emotionally exhaust me. It'll happen, I'll make it happen.


	22. "Hurt Somebody" by Noah Kahan, Julie Michael

**Teddy Langston (@TM_1996)**

I mean who needs to work when I can just have sex with the bf #workfromhome

 

**Dakota Crosby (@K9_Crosby)**

@TM_1996 lmao not even your bf would allow that

 

**Maverick (@MaverickOfficial)**

Ngl I have tried haggis #scotland #AwayForTheWeekendTour

 

**Kenna Lithgow (@GreenockGirl141)**

@MaverickOfficial did you like it???? It’s a Scottish delicacy

 

**Maverick (@MaverickOfficial)**

@GreenockGirl141 well, I mean, it’s not the best thing I’ve ever eaten #sogross #almostdied

 

**Text message from Dakota**

**Dakota:** I went to Sweden during college

**Theodore:** Lol I always go on food tours when I’m in town

**Theodore:** I make time.

**Dakota:** How was it?

**Theodore:** Smoked salmon, cinnamon bun, reindeer salami, and some weird fish soup

**Theodore:** It was interesting

**Dakota:** LOL so you didn’t like it?

**Theodore:** I would never just…say that O.O

**Dakota:** Your going to stay away from the Amsterdam drug scene?

**Theodore:** But it’s legal.

 

**Text message from Harry**

**Harry:** Dakota’s right.

**Harry:** But I mean it is Amsterdam.

**Harry:** Don’t tell Dakota.

**Theodore:** ;)

 

**tonikissseri**

This is me freaking out. I just went on holiday to Barcelona and met Maverick at a coffee shop

#maveratics #cantevenbreathe #hessonicethough

**mariaramos7081**

I saw him Lisbon! With some guy. Does anyone know who this is

#justcurious #donotbitemyheadoff @maveratics

**tootiefrootie**

No idea but I have seen him somewhere before keepcalmandshipcrisial

#letsfindout #nowiwanttoknow #maveratics

**neeliethemaveratic**

Maverick is NOT gay. Chesa is going to Italy to see him. She met his family.

#stopthemadness #tinhatters #maveratics

**princessdonatella**

There’s always one. She was just asking

#calmdown #psychos #maveratics

**keepcalmandshipcrisial**

That’s Harry Benton-Sterling. Irial Dorian’s best friend. He works PR for Dissident Management

#crisialshippers

 

**Text message from Johanna**

**Johanna:** Did you get that email about Iri and Cris

**Harry:** So people suspect. There’s no proof. Let it go.

 

**Chesapeake Maro (@ChesaSings)**

@MaverickOfficial don’t be jelly of my awesome vegan diet

 

**Maverick (@MaverickOfficial)**

@ChesaSings what it must be like not to eat cheese in Italy and Gelato #sososad #turin

 

**Maverick (@MaverickOfficial)**

There are no words that due justice to the experience of walking Auschwitz-Birkenau

 

**Maverick drops third single and concert video**

In the time between his second and third concert leg, Maverick released the third single off his album, Away for the Weekend, titled ‘Everywhere’ featuring Ani Tiernan. Europe’s partygirl and America’s playboy looked like they had a ball filming the sensual, vocally stunning and emotionally complex video in several European cities including Rome, Paris, and Lisbon. What took his fans completely by surprise was the release of two ten minute concert series videos of some action behind the scenes, which included him playing guitar with Chesapeake Maro as well as singing ‘Thriller’ with Alina Rosen of Azadi while skipping down the hallway. We’re all just wondering when he’s finally going to confirm what looks like a pretty serious relationship with Chesapeake Maro who even went to visit him during his tour dates in Italy.

 

**Text message from Theodore**

**Theodore:** I heard about the livestream.

**Theodore:** Should I grab dinner?

**Harry:** Yes. I have so many emails.

**Harry:** And Iri and Cris are throwing a party for like everyone in a few

**Theodore:** Lmao you poor thing. Alina & I are going out to Brighton that day

 

**Text message from Harry**

**Harry:** They’re engaged

**Theodore:** Your job just got so much harder.

**Harry:** Listen, listen, should we get drinks? I need a drink

**Theodore:** Sure thing babe

 

To: sterling.harry@dissidentmanagement.com

From: bonfils.caroline@arsenalfc.org.uk

Subject: A problem

Harry,

Since you're much more well-versed at hiding someone's sexuality and have helped me get ahead of these shitstorms in the past, I need some serious help. Someone's trying to sell Bailey's secret to the rags–with proof.

Any help would be appreciated,

Caroline Bonfils

 

**Maverick (@Maverick)**

First time ever in Israel play Tel Aviv with @BimyouJP

 

To: sterling.harry@dissidentmanagement.com

From: missytereen@gmail.com

Subject: RE: Arsenal FC Sextape

Thanks for your cryptic email. What I got from my source was that a reporter named Zackary Russell who’s trying to sell this story to the Mirror now that the guardian refused to pick it up.

You suck,

Missy Tereen

 

**Text message from Dakota**

**Dakota:** How was Dubai?

**Theodore:** Not as impressive as I expected

**Dakota:** And Thailand?

**Theodore:** I like it but I hate Thai food for reals.

**Theodore:** Harry said he saw you on Live PD. You didn’t tell me that

**Dakota:** Omg stop. I think it’s a great program but I’m on fucking tv kill me.

**Theodore:** I’m on TV all the time. I have an interview today in Kuala Lumpur and a couple weeks in Jakarta. Luckily nothing in Singapore

**Dakota:** I can’t even with you

 

**Maverick (@MaverickOfficial)**

Really wish I had more time in China to see the countryside because Hong Kong is beautiful <3

 

**Text message from Harry**

**Harry:** Ngl I’m a little jealous. I’ve got Iri and Cris, blackmail, baby mama drama

**Theodore:** You have baby mama drama

**Harry:** Not mine god forbid.

**Theodore:** It’s been kind of incredible. I want to see you

**Harry:** You’re in Shanghai? Seoul, Osaka, and Tokyo. Then home. 8 days

**Theodore:** Probably more like 14. I met this Chinese singer and a Korean one.

**Harry:** You want to collaborate.

**Theodore:** I always want to collaborate.

**Harry:** I’ll wait for you.

 

**Text message from Rosie**

**Rosie:** Duuuuuude. You’re so whipped.

**Harry:** No.

**Rosie:** You’re going to Seoul for your boyfriend.

**Harry:** His timeline changed. He’s working with Bimyou out of Tokyo and a couple groups in South Korea producing and trying to expand them into Europe. It’s only a week.

**Rosie:** A WEEK IN KOREA for ur bf.

 

**Maverick (@MaverickOfficial)**

Check out ‘13 Years’ from me and @kangsoyoung which is set to be the theme for upcoming kdrama Past Lives!

 

**Maureen Tellus (@TellusTheStars)**

@MaverickOfficial met @kangsoyoung and sung with him and wrote for a kdrama #bestofbothworlds

 

**Text message to Sullivan**

**Harry:** Hey Sully I got a text from Bailey. I need you

**Sullivan:** Talk to me

**Harry:** Bailey’s friend got arrested by Interpol. They think he’s Salem

**Sullivan:** Is he?

**Harry:** Bailey calls him Salem

**Sullivan:** I’m so down to go to France to bust out an internationally renowned hacker

 

**Teddy Langston (@TM_1996)**

Somehow everyone I love is living a more exciting life than me. Than ME!!!

 

**Maverick (@MaverickOfficial)**

I saw the Sydney Opera House, went to a nude beach, and went scuba diving. Now onto Hawaii!!!!

 

**Text message from Theodore**

**Theodore:** Flying out on the 8th for the Grammy nomination concert

**Theodore:** I’ll get in at around 12 on the 10th kk?

**Harry:** Is this you asking me to pick you up?

**Theodore:** Well you have my car, and now you’ve got a license…:D

**Harry:** Ugh fine.

 

**Text message to Irial**

**Harry:** I’m begging you not to do anything to fuck up my xmas

 

**Text message to Harry**

**Dakota:** Everything set?

**Harry:** Everything’s set

**Harry:** I’m still not sure how I feel about this.

* * *

Theodore flicked the ashes of his cigarette out the window, aware of his hands shaking and the hunger in his body. Harry looked over at him from the corner of his eye but didn’t say anything about his obvious needs for drugs. Keeping one hand on the wheel, he reached over to squeeze Theodore’s hand, turning down the road to park on the street outside his father’s Hendon home, four cars already parked in the driveway and along the side.

“I’m sorry,” Theodore said under his breath.

Harry hummed thoughtfully and lifted Theodore’s hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to the back of it. Theodore relaxed and smiled, feet falling to the floor when Harry shut the car off. “You don’t need to be sorry. I know how much it took for you not to use this morning.”

“It’s Christmas, and you hate it.”

“I do,” Harry confessed, looping the car key over his wrist. He leaned across the console to press a long, heated kiss to Theodore’s lips. “But you’re trying. I’m not going to pretend like it’s not hard, and that I don’t want you to be ready to quit right now, because that would be a lie. I want that, and I feel like we can’t move forward until that happens.”

“You think we can do that? You think we have a future?” Theodore asked timidly. Harry just looks over at him. Sighing, Theodore pushed his glass onto his head and ran a hand over his face. “I want to be ready. I know you don’t trust me because of them. You can’t. I can’t trust me with the drugs. But I want us to get to a place where we can talk about having a future, and I know that’s on me.”

Harry pursed his lips and nodded his head. “We’ll work on it, but eventually you’ll have to make a decision.” Theodore pursed his lips and nodded. Running a hand over Theodore’s face gently, Harry pressed another, softer kiss to Theodore’s lips. Theodore smiled against his lips and drew in a shaky drew, feeling his eyes tearing up. “You don’t have to worry about it today. Come on.”

Theodore nodded and climbed out of the car. Harry grabbed the presents he’d brought for his family while Theodore wiped the tear dribbling from his eye and pulled the bowl of trifle from the backseat, top covered by Saran wrap. He nudged the door shut with his hip, shivering as a brutal, frigid breeze chilled him to the bone. Harry paused to wait for him at the walkway, and Theodore ran to keep up, smiling uncertainly.

Laughing, Harry leaned over to press a kiss to his cheek. Theodore smiled happily and followed his boyfriend to the door. He rapped his knuckles against the door, and Theodore tilted his head back to stare up at the house. The redbrick maisonette’s front door was squished beneath an archway alongside a second door. The small garden out front was completely overgrown.

The door was opened by Harry’s father, Jonathon, who smiled at the pair of them.

“Harry, Theodore, it’s good to see you. Wipe your feet on the mat and come on in,” Jonathon said, waving them inside. Harry moved passed him, wiping his feet on the mat and moving into the house. “Here, I’ll take that,” Jonathon said to Theodore, plucking the trifle from his hands as he slipped inside, the door closing behind him.

An elderly man lounged on the couch in khaki suit pants and a plaid housecoat, his wispy white hair sticking up in several different directions. Sitting cross-legged on the sofa beside him was Rosie Ireland, her wild red hair hanging loose passed her shoulders, Christmas cat sweater two sizes too big, and legs clothed in partially see-through yoga pants. She waved brightly at Harry who stopped to kiss her cheek before her eyes fell on Theodore.

“There you are Teddy Bear. I wondered if he’d left you. You guys take your privacy _way_ too seriously. He still hasn’t told Irial,” Rosie said, hopping up from the couch to wrap her arms around him.

Theodore hugged her back, relaxing slightly, though the familiar dark green eyes from the elderly man didn’t waver from him.

“Hey, Grandpa,” Harry greeted, hugging the older man and reaching out to take Theodore and tug him closer. “This is my boyfriend, Theodore. Babe, this is my grandfather, Chester.”

Chester reached out to shake Theodore’s hand when they were interrupted by a shrill cry.

“Boyfriend? Did he say boyfriend?” A woman interrupted excitedly, a moment before a rail thin woman in a long floral skirt and sweater. Her hair still retained a little of its golden hue, bright blue eyes sparkling as she looked between Harry and Theodore with a wide smile. Clapping her hands together, the woman started towards them while Theodore side-stepped closer to Harry, blinking in surprise.

Rosie moved out of her way, hurriedly, backing into a woman in her early thirties that Theodore had never seen before.

Instead of making her way to Harry, she went directly to Theodore. He startled as she cupped his face between her hands. Smiling brightly, she looked over at Harry. “He’s cute. How long? Is it serious? He’s twenty-three, it’s time to get serious,” she said this last part to Theodore who raised his eyebrows and considered this statement uncertainly.

“Gran,” Harry said, grimacing while Rosie devolved into giggles. He placed his hands on her arm and tried to pry her away from Theodore. “It’s serious. We’ve been dating a year and a half. And what about Rosie? She’s twenty-three and unmarried.”

Felicity Benton, then, which Maverick had assumed but wasn’t certain.

According Harry, she wasn’t technically his grandmother. His biological grandmother had died from complications in childbirth years ago. Felicity was Chester Benton’s second wife, a florist who’d raised Jonathon as her own and had been the only grandmother that family ever knew.

“Yes, spinisterhood starts much earlier for a woman than a man.”

Rosie gaped while Theodore barked out a laugh.

“Spinsterhood?” Rosie declared in disbelief.

“Felicity, dear, kids don’t need to marry so young anymore,” Chester insisted almost lazily.

“But they ought to,” Felicity protested, patting Harry’s cheek, “to please their family.”

“No,” Harry said curtly.

“It’s not exactly recommended for kids to marry young. It leads to higher divorce rates,” the woman beside Rosie said. They all turned to her. She was small and plump with a pretty but unremarkable face, brown eyes, and ash blonde hair twisted up in a ponytail. Hair twisted up in a ponytail, and eyes behind tortoiseshell glasses. Her stomach was noticeably rounded, and he pressed her hand on   She blinked in surprise and smiled uncertainly. “Hi, you’re Maverick. I’m Josephine Trimble Keene. You can call me Josie.”

“She’s Don’s wife,” Rosie said unhelpfully.

Theodore knew Donald Keene by reputation alone. Harry hadn’t talked about Samantha’s only child much, but Theodore knew that Harry neither liked him nor disliked him. The only thing Harry had to say about Don was that he was a secondary school teacher and that they rarely spoke to each other.

“Is dinner ready?” Chester asked his wife pointedly.

Felicity scoffed, “You only like me for my food.”

“Course, love.”

Harry smirked over at Theodore. He raised his eyebrows and shook his head. Old people were so much fun.

Hands on her hips, Felicity sighed and nodded her head. “Of course dinner’s ready. Like I would come and bring the menfolk back if dinner wasn’t ready.”

“Ooh, food,” Rosie said with a grin, splitting for the kitchen, Josie following behind her.

Harry grabbed Theodore’s hand, tugging him from the family room into the kitchen/dining area with Chester bringing up the rear.

The kitchen was small, barely a walk-in, a peninsula demarcating the individual spaces. The wooden table in the dining room had been expanded with a folding table and folding chairs, a large tablecloth stretching across them. It was a tight squeeze for nine people but not overly. Chester sat at the head of the table with his wife on his left and his son on his right. Samantha sat beside Jonathon with Rosie across from her. Harry sat between Rosie and Theodore, Donald and Josie sitting opposite them.

A warm feeling spread through him as he sat at the end of the table, Harry’s hand resting on his thigh, and their fingers intertwined.

Even with Curtis and Mabel, Theodore had never done a Christmas dinner, especially not like this. He knew he was a workaholic, and when they’d moved to New Orleans, Theodore had been quickly involved in acting and singing and writing and composing. He hadn’t had much time the first few years for family Christmases and by the time he was established enough to make time, Theodore had taken to instead getting blitzed at parties or holing up in the studio with people as jaded as himself.

Harry’s family though was easier than his own. There were no expectations or hidden motivations just a family dinner full of subtle tension, underhanded comments, and snide remarks about becoming a spinster. The table was covered with stuffing, gravy, roast potatoes, cranberry sauce, Yorkshire pudding, and roast carrots. On the peninsula were the desserts: a Yule log, the trifle Harry and Theodore brought, and plum pudding courtesy of Don and Josie.

“So,” Samantha said setting down her cidre and resting her chin on her interlaced fingers, “how did you two meet?”

Theodore paused with the fork halfway to his lips, eyes sliding automatically to Harry. He raised his eyebrows and sipped his pumpkin beer, gaze shifting over to Theodore. He blinked at him recognizing the question in his gaze. How did Theodore want to handle this? Whether or not Harry trusted this part of his family wasn’t even the problem. Harry knew that Theodore didn’t trust easily and wouldn’t reveal anything no matter how much he might want to, especially if he felt like it wasn’t his to tell.

Rosie laughed delightedly and leaned over, resting her chin on her palm. “Yes, this I would like to know.”

Everyone at the table looked over at the pair. Theodore’s eyes widened while Harry took a sip of his beer and waited for Theodore to make up his mind.

Clearing his throat, Theodore sat up straighter and bit the inside of his cheek. Harry took another bite of turkey and squeezed Theodore’s knee comfortingly. It was a strange feeling that he always had with Harry, knowing he had options. That if he chose not to respond, not answer the question, Harry wouldn’t mind. That if he lied, Harry would back him up. And if he didn’t answer at all, then Harry wouldn’t intervene. The only time Harry ever pushed, prodded, and demanded was when Theodore refused to offer any opinion at all or lied.

“We met at the People’s Choice Awards last year.” Theodore said honestly. Slowly, Harry nodded in agreement and flipped his hands to hold Theodore’s hand. He squeezed tightly, surprising himself by how nervous he was. This wasn’t the mother that Harry didn’t know what to do with. Even if he’d shirked the destiny his father would someday bequeath to him, Harry loved his father, adored Samantha, and visited his grandparents at least once a week. “Harry didn’t like me.”

“I didn’t say that,” Harry argued demurely.

“I’m sure you didn’t need to,” Rosie commented wryly, taking a sip of her wine.

Theodore laughed and nodded his head. “He has that way about him doesn’t he? You don’t need to tell people you don’t like them. They just know.”

“I didn’t dislike you. I just thought you were trouble.” Harry told Theodore lightly. He shrugged his shoulder and grinned as he brought another forkful of cranberry sauce to his lips. “I was right, wasn’t I?”

“Rude,” Theodore drawled with a smirk. “I’m not trouble!”

Harry turned to gape at him in disbelief. “Do you know before I met you that the most I’d traveled had been Ibiza in uni, the Virgin Islands for holiday with dad and Sam, and Paris. Suddenly I’m in LA all the time because you have award shows and tours. And Seoul so you can collaborate with K-Pop stars. And the Iberian peninsula to visit you. I’ve never traveled this much in all my life.”

Theodore scoffed and pressed his lips together in a pout. “Then don’t come visit me next time. I’ll pine miserably. You can bury yourself in Cris and Irial’s issues. And we’ll both be frustrated. Sounds good?”

Harry laughed and pressed a kiss to his lips. “I should have gone to visit you in Hawaii.”

“We’ll go again. Not Honolulu. It’s so commercialized. Maybe Kauai. Or Oahu.” Theodore mused to himself. “Also also Breaking Fourth might win a Grammy. I would actually implode. Just so you know.”

Rosie gasped, “You don’t like Breaking Fourth?”

“They have incredible voices,” Theodore said in a noncommittal answer while Harry laughed.

“I feel so betrayed,” Rosie sputtered, looking at Harry. She punched him on the arm. “You didn’t tell me he didn’t like Breaking Fourth!”

“Was I supposed to? You don’t tell me anything about your boyfriend.”

“I don’t have a boyfriend,” Rosie denied, flustered.

Theodore’s eyebrows rose. Harry balked at her while Rosie downed her wine.

“You have a man! Both my little babies have men in their lives,” Felicity declared happily, nudging her husband’s arm. “See I pester these kids and they pair up. I am a good matchmaker.”

“I don’t have a boyfriend,” Rosie declared, voice shrilly.

Josie crooked an eyebrow and sipped her ice water. Her husband hid his laughter behind her hand.

Harry and Theodore exchanged a long look of skepticism.

They didn’t technically live together, he and Harry. Cheryl had moved out around the same time her boyfriend, Micah, had been allowed to ditch his PR girlfriend, but neither of them had been interested in finding a third roommate, making enough money to cover the rent together. When Theodore was in town, Harry stayed with him, a lot of his shoes and clothes and toiletries migrating over to Theodore’s house. He had a set of spare keys to Theodore’s house and car, and Theodore knew—even liked—that when Harry had developed a habit for working at the house, falling asleep there, and then taking the car to work in morning. Rosie apparently preferred things that way, and Harry had called in shock the first time she’d demanded to know why he was home and when he was leaving again.

“You’re an orphan?” Josie asked.

Theodore startled, looking over Harry. He narrowed his eyes on Josie.

“That must have been hard on you emotionally, growing up.”

“Jesus Christ,” Chester threw up his hands. “Let’s talk about his childhood trauma at the dinner table. Sure, Josephine.”

“Can we not psychoanalyze guests during dinner?” Don inquired offhandedly.

“What are you on?”

The whole table turned to her while Theodore tensed and swallowed, staring at her. She didn’t look angry, words weren’t accusing. He laughed uncertainly while fiddling with his glasses.

“Josie,” Harry purred warningly.

“What is wrong with you?” Rosie hissed at her.

“I’m just curious…”

“It’s none of your business,” Theodore said, surprising Harry, but he bowed his head and allowed Theodore to defend himself. “I’m not high right now, and you don’t have to deal with it. What I use, my sobriety, it’s not your problem. Okay so you’re a counselor or therapist or whatever, but I’m a popstar, and I didn’t come here to judge and diva to you. So close your mouth and mind your business.”

Josie looked startled, turning to her husband who nodded his head. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Theodore said shortly.

The table remained silent for a moment, the return to their meals a desperate attempt to regain some normalcy after Josie’s outburst. Theodore relaxed, feeling strangely proud of himself not only for sticking up for himself but for having Harry, Rosie, and most of the family’s support to do so. It was a refreshing change from his own family where only Curtis, Calvin, and Donna were willing to start an argument by allowing Theodore—in his rarer attempts—to speak his mind.

When they’d finished, Harry, Donald, and Jonathon rose to clear plates, bringing back clean dessert plates and forks for everyone.

Harry paused by Theodore and rested a hand on his shoulder. “I want to show you something,” Harry whispered in his ear.

“But there’s dessert,” Theodore pleaded.

“It’ll be quick, come on.” Samantha and Jonathon grinned at each other in amusement.

Theodore frowned but allowed Harry to lead him out into the hallway. He stopped him there with a conspiratorial grin, walking backwards towards the door leading to the garden.

“I got you a present,” Harry told him.

“Why? We agreed we weren’t doing that,” Theodore said slowly. Instead, they had plans to go to Ireland in January before his tour started up again. Theodore had enjoyed Ireland more than he’d expected and only seen the gorgeous emerald countryside from the window of the bus. They’d agreed to stay at a B&B in County Clare, spending a week or so just driving the winding roads and exploring what the countryside had to offer.

Harry nodded and amended, “Okay, so Dakota and I and the Fulton County Police Department got you a present.”

“Did they?” Theodore asked slowly in confusion.

“Dakota thinks you need a full-time companion, and I agree but you know how I feel about dogs. Neither of us has time to train one, and we’d have to make time. Overwhelming,” he cracked open the door to the garden and opened it, revealing the overgrown backyard. Theodore frowned but didn’t say anything. “So Dakota had an idea.” Harry whistled.

Theodore barely had a moment’s confusion before a sleek gold brindled Dutch Shepherd came racing out of the backyard, tail wagging and ears perked excitedly. It trotted into the house, shaking off its coat in the hallway and looking between Theodore and Harry curiously as Harry shut the door to expel the cold.

“What?” Theodore started, kneeling down to let the dog sniff his hand.

“Attila is a retired police canine. His handler got cancer and didn’t think he could handle taking him so he needed to be adopted out. The Fulton County Police pushed your paperwork so that you could be approved for adoption—it’s really hard to adopt a police dog. We’ve all put a lot of time and effort into this, but at least he’s trained. He’s only seven. He was retired a couple years early because he got shot in the leg and sometimes it acts up, but we’ll keep an eye on it.”

Theodore looked up at him, teary-eyed as the dog licked his face. “I always wanted a pet.”

“I know,” Harry said softly.

“I thought you said we couldn’t move forward until I quit cocaine? This is kind of a big step forward.” Theodore told him.

Harry nodded, “Yeah, well…I don’t know what to say. I’m afraid you’re going to fuck everything up, but I keep continuing on anyway. That’s life, I guess.”

Theodore nodded and hid his smile in the dog’s fur. He needed to get his life sorted.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is me skipping class because I don't want to talk about Marxist literature anymore. I feel like three weeks is my max limit for engaging in those discussions. Police dogs are generally retired around 8-10 years old so Attila's young but not that young, and yes police dogs are really hard to adopt and there's not a lot of them because often the officers keep the dogs at home. The B&B they're going to in County Clare is called Glocca Mora and really exists. I've been there and it's lovely. As for Hawaii, I've never been but my mother and brother did when I was stuck in gray London at uni. She says the North Shore is beautiful but that Hononlulu is basically one super commercialized hub.


	23. "Consequences" by Camila Cabello

**Maverick brings in the New Year with a bang**

Despite speculation Maverick would return to the US for Christmas, the popstar stayed in London reportedly celebrating Christmas with a local circle of friends rather than his family. Which, apparently, they had nothing nice to say about on Twitter, Maverick’s uncle writing: “The popstar clearly thinks he’s too big for the family that took him in.” Ouch. But Maverick ignored the criticism from some of his family and was spotted all over London hanging out with Alina Rosen, Marley Afwa while she was there, Penney Dear, Soren Reid, Dali Crusoe, and Carter Skeet. For New Year’s Eve, he was spotted with rumored girlfriend, Chesapeake Maro getting breakfast together and later going for a skate on Canary Wharf. Though there’s no photos of his after hours activities, a number of sources claim that he hosted a huge party at the Royal Opera House that brought in celebrities from all over the world, as far east as Korea and south as Australia came to celebrate with him, Chesapeake, and his new dog, an adorable Dutch Shepherd named Attila. Now we all just want the pics.

 

**RT by @K9_Crosby**

**Teddy Langston (@TM_1996)**

Big thanks to Ceol na dTonnta for helping me, the bae, and the fur baby have such a great trip #doolin #ireland #b&b

 

**maveraticsunite**

Our boy dominated the PCAs. Fav male artist, fav pop artist, fav song. The only category he didn’t win was fav album because his didn’t qualify

#peopleschoiceawards #maveratics #maverick #rise

**simplysadie876**

And he took our girl Chesa. I just want to see them being cute together is that too much to ask

#maveratics #chesapeakemaro #theyneedacouplename

**ashesahes**

Invasion of privacy. Is this a thing you’ve heard of?

#maveratics #chesapeakemaro #privacy

 

**Maverick finally takes home a Grammy**

And here we all thought Maverick would end up being music’s Leonardo di Caprio doomed to be amazing and never get a Grammy for it. His streak ended with the 60th Grammy Awards. While Breaking Fourth walked away with Album of the Year and Song of the Year, Maverick got his due. His song, ‘Storytellers’ won Record of the Year, Best Pop Vocal Album for “Away For the Weekend”, and Best Rap/Sung Performance for his collaboration on ‘I Don’t Even Know’ with Pharaoh and America Castillo. He also brought Azadi’s Alina Rosen as his date despite speculation (and hope) that he’d bring rumored girlfriend, Chesapeake Maro nominate for Best New Artist.

 

**Marley Afwa (@Marley_Afwa)**

Happy 22nd b-day to my bestie @MaverickOfficial

 

**Chesapeake Maro (@ChesaSings)**

Best ways to bring in your birthday :* @MaverickOfficial

 

**Text message from Dakota**

**Dakota:** Happy birthday man

**Theodore:** Thank you XD

**Dakota:** Do I even want to know what you’re doing to make yourself so happy?

**Theodore:** Being normal and boring. We went to see Shape of Water. I cried like a baby. Pizza at this swanky Italian restaurant, and then we’ll get the dog and just go walk along the Thames for awhile. I’m so in love

**Dakota:** Obviously Theo

 

**Dominic Kinsey (@Nic_Kinsey)**

Okay but @MaverickOfficial’s fourth single is popping

 

**Elena Valence (@e_valence1997)**

I’m just going to stand here for a minute and fangirl hard over @MaverickOfficial @DaliCrusoe song Branded #sogoingtotheconcert #icantnot

 

**Maverick (@MaverickOfficial)**

First San Diego, then onto Monterrey #mexico #letsgo

 

**Magdalena Hildago (@MariposaMagdalena)**

When @MaverickOfficial learns a whole song in perfect Spanish just to sing with you #crushing

 

**Gomez Rajos (@GomezRajos)**

@MariposaMagdalena you and me both. Shout out for him having mad respect for my #columbia #bogotá

 

**Sofía Cabrera (@sofiedulce)**

I can’t even believe I gave a private food tour to @MaverickOfficial @MariposaMagdalena @GomezRajos !!!!! #buenosaires

 

**Group MMS: Harry, Dakota, Alina, Marley**

**Dakota:** Did you see giant Jesus?

**Alina:** Lmao you’re so cultured

**Marley:** But…it’s a giant Jesus?

**Theodore:** I saw giant Jesus in Rio.

**Theodore:** What should I do in Puerto Rico?

**Alina:** Is working an option?

**Harry:** Go snorkeling in Punta Cana.

**Harry:** Are you writing over your break?

**Theodore:** I am. Not for me this time. Blame Alina and her people

**Alina:** *puts up hands* It wasn’t me!

**Dakota:** Don’t lie.

**Theodore:** He’s big on honesty.

**Harry:** So you’ll be home?

**Theodore:** Course love otherwise I would have told you earlier.

 

**Text message from Theodore**

**Theodore:** I saw that interview with Jessie Abrams

**Theodore:** Are you okay?

**Harry:** I just spent 6hrs in an emergency meeting. Then 2hrs having iri scream at me

**Harry:** I didn’t know. I would never have approved Cris denying he and Irial on camera

**Theodore:** He’s a shit liar

**Harry:** And emotional. I’m not ok.

**Theodore:** What do you need?

**Harry:** I really don’t know yet.

**Harry:** Also the dog comes to work with me now so ppl leave me tf alone

**Maverick (@MaverickOfficial)**

I brought @AzadiOfficial @ChesaSings on tour with me

 

**RT @ChesaSings @Marley_Afwa**

**Alina Rosen (@AlinaAzadi)**

Now all we need is @Marley_Afwa and we can have your whole harem in one place #jk #lol

 

**Maverick (@MaverickOfficial)**

I have been told we have no time to go to Disney World…we can make some right? (个_个)

 

**Interview with webstar Mckinley Pope**

**Mckinley:** What do you think of Charleston?

**Maverick:** It’s better than Jacksonville. Otherwise I’ve been on the tour bus most of the time. It all kind of blurs really.

**Mckinley:** You’re almost as famous for your collaborations as your own albums. Any collaborations in the works?

**Maverick:** Not right now. I’m not really sure what I’ll do after I finish touring. I don’t feel ready to step into another album. I don’t think I have anything to say yet. I’ve been writing with Azadi, and that’s been incredibly fulfilling. And I do love collaborations. So probably quite a few of those. Chesapeake and I have been writing together, probably not for me and her, but songs for her and someone else. They’re not my style

**Mckinley:** Everyone was incredibly pumped when they found out your last leg included Chesapeake. Is there ever going to be an official confirmation?

**Maverick:** Official confirmation of what? Don’t put words in my mouth! I adore Chesa. We get along great, and whatever else there is, I mean, the relationship I’m in now is one I want to keep private. It’s still fragile.

**Mckinley:** It’s that important to you?

**Maverick:** It’s my everything.

 

**Text message from Rosie**

**Rosie:** Why am I watching your dog?

**Rosie:** What is going on Harry?

**Rosie:** Why is your phone off? How long are you going to be gone?

**Rosie:** Harry!

* * *

“Oh my God! Oh my God! Dakota, oh my God!” A girl exclaimed in disbelief, smack the back of her hand against Dakota’s abdomen. The dog that Theodore had insisted be allowed into the stadium and the promise that the dog was a working police canine sat at Dakota’s feet, wagging her tail happily.

Dakota’s sister, Stephanie, looked like him despite being eight years younger. She was slim with an athletic build that Dakota had said came from her volleyball and soccer background. Her caramel hair was the same exact shade as Dakota’s, plaited into a thick side braid, and the gray eyes were identical. Dakota had said that Stephanie had never much cared about celebrities until Theodore’s first studio album came out, and in an instant she’d become a super fan. Not that superfans looked any different from other fans, but aside from the concert tee hanging off her slim frame, Stephanie had a Maveratics bracelet on her wrist and his lyrics written on her arms in warpaint.

His eyes met Dakota’s, and he rolled his eyes with a long-suffering sigh.

“That’s Maverick!” Stephanie hissed at her brother in an extremely loud whisper.

Theodore hid his amusement but also thought it was sad he was less clothed than a teenaged girl in booty shorts and a t-shirt. His black skinny jeans had enough rips from ankle to thigh to barely qualify as cloths and the Gucci mesh shirt hid absolutely nothing, leaving the tattoo of Attila’s paw print on his hip exposed. Dakota meanwhile was in a pair of old jeans and a plain gray shirt apparently having realized that there was no need to look like he’d stepped off a runway to go to a concert, even if it was his friend’s.

“I know,” Dakota told his sister sagely. “He gave me the tickets. This concert was sold out. And expensive. I don’t make that kind of money. Does Chick-Fil-A pay that much?”

Stephanie turned to her brother with a look of ire on her face. “First you’re on Live PD. Now you know Maverick. Who _are_ you? When did my lame brother get so cool? I thought people with children were supposed to be boring!”

“You have kids? You didn’t tell me that. You also didn’t tell me you were on Live PD, either. Harry told me that,” Theodore pointed out deciding to throw him a life raft.

Khaleesi nudged her cold nose against his hand until he stroked her head in greeting.

Dakota sighed, “Kennedy and I were not the brightest kids. I have a two year old daughter.”

“And a lawyer for an ex,” Theodore stated with a wide smile.

He rolled his eyes and shrugged his shoulders.

Stephanie raised her eyebrows, her starstruck look at Theodore thawing to be replaced with fascination. She blinked at Dakota like she’d never seen him before. “I mean, yeah? A lawyer for an ex, but you’ve got…he doesn’t know? You didn’t tell him? Do you tell anyone?”

Dakota shook his head and waved his sister off.

Theodore didn’t pry into Dakota’s business, too amused by his sister to get into his personal life. Besides, family was a touchy subject to most people in their generation. Stephanie shifted quickly back to be enthralled by his presence. Her gaze switched to him a wary fascination on her face.

Shaking his head, Dakota cracked open the bottle of water in his hands and took a long swig. His eyes followed his sister as she crept nearer to Theodore who pretended not to see her. His eyes locked on Dakota’s, the amusement in his eyes understated and carefully hidden from his face to protect his sister’s feelings. Even off-duty, Dakota seemed totally in control of his emotions to the point that Harry would be jealous. It explained well enough though how easily the three of them had managed to build a friendship despite distance and despite the circumstances under which they’d met. Theodore saw both himself and Harry in Dakota only more well adjusted in some respects and more destroyed in others.

“How’s it been?” Dakota asked deceptively light.

Theodore recognized the pointed question for what it was. He shrugged his shoulders, eyeing Stephanie’s slow crawl across the distance towards him. Khaleesi, bored of the slow progress, laid on the floor, tail still wagging.

“I’ve been trying. I have to. At some point Harry’s going to lose patience, you know? I’m trying not to reach that point.”

“There’s always a breaking point,” Dakota pointed out with a serious tone of someone who’s seen this very thing before. But from the tone in his voice, that particular lesson had been learned more personally than on the job.

Theodore watched him cautiously for a moment before returning his gaze to Stephanie who was now within touching distance. She smiled uncertainly, and Theodore crossed his arms, tilting his head and continuing to wait. This slow dance to get her to ask wasn’t totally unfamiliar, but most fans tended to be crying and quick when they came over for pictures, autographs, and tearful hugs. This, he imagined, is what Harry’s life with him felt like sometimes waiting and waiting and _waiting_ for what he already knew was coming.

“Hi,” Stephanie started.

Hiding his smile, Theodore nodded, “Hi, Stephanie.”

She inhaled sharply and glared at her brother. “Maverick knows my name.”

Dakota gazed at her steadily in mild disbelief. “Theodore and I know each other. We’re friends. He knows your name. He knows Kennedy’s name. He even knows my ex-girlfriend’s name.”

“That cunt. Did you tell him about Connor? That guy I also set the dog on,” Stephanie said hotly.

Dakota held up a placating hand. “Okay.”

Theodore laughed at the siblings as Stephanie swiveled her focus back to him.

She breathed in deeply.

He nodded his head slowly.

Then all her words came out in a rush, “I’m like the biggest fan. It’s embarrassing really. I have all your albums. And the EP and even those Disney albums you sung on as a teenager. And really your rendition of ‘Not One of Us’ was inspired.”

Theodore nodded and then hesitated. “Did I do that?”

His Disney days were a vague blur. It was a good thing he was more addiction to music and the high he got from performing than cocaine. Most of it except the highlights and lowlights existed in the colorful blur of parties, meetings, and vomiting on the side of the road while his head spun, Preston ushering him into hotels to avoid cameras.

Stephanie hesitated, eyebrows furrowed as she tried to judge if he was serious.

Dakota knew he was. He nodded his head slowly and squeezed the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. Offering Theodore a tiny sympathetic smile, Dakota put his hand on Khaleesi’s head when the dog shifted up to sit on its haunches.

“Can I get an autograph? And a picture? Callie and Isa are not going to believe this. My lameass brother _knows_ you, oh my God. And a hug! Jesus this is so embarrassing, I’m sorry. Stop me any time,” Stephanie said smacking her other hand over her mouth and throwing a desperate look towards her brother seemed not at all inclined to save him.

“This is so far from the most embarrassing fangirl moment I’ve ever heard. You’re good,” Theodore said playfully. It was the truth though. He’d met all kinds of fans including the ones that scared the crap out of him. Coincidentally, those were not the ones that were currently virtual pariahs for speculating on his sexuality.

“Really?” Stephanie asked brightly.

“You don’t have to lie to her. She knows she’s crazy,” Dakota said earning his sister turning to stick her tongue out at him.

Theodore held up his hands innocently. “Listen, you should never lie about crazy on the scale of casual fan to ‘I stalk your footsteps’ you’re at like diehard. Not the worst place to be,” he said plucking her phone out of her hands and tossing it to Dakota. Using her wrist, he tugged her closer to him, throwing an arm around her shoulders. She squealed slightly, wrapping an arm tentatively around his waist and snuggled against him with a tiny happy dance that made Theodore laugh. “You take the picture, big brother.”

Dakota rolled his eyes and held up the phone. “Hysterical, Theo. Like I’ve never heard that one before. Alright, one, two…”

On three, Theodore pressed a kiss to Stephanie’s cheek. He felt her tense in surprise, and he pulled back with a laugh, eyes moving to Dakota who stood looking at the camera and laughing. Stephanie held her hands over her mouth in alarm, looking between Theodore and her brother before finally deciding to focus on the latter. She drew in a deep breath, rolled back her shoulders, and turned to Dakota, stomping her foot. Pointing a finger at him, Stephanie huffed.

“Don’t laugh at me Dakota!”

“I’m not, I’m not. I pro—”

His words were interrupted by the sound of something shattering. Khaleesi was immediately on her feet, ears perked forward and eyes locked on where Alina followed the sound, stumbling over her high heels. She reached out and stumbled into the wall, head bowed and an uncharacteristic sallow look to her face.

“Fuck, Ali,” Shahnaz followed her, putting a hand on her arm to which she responded with a full-bodied slap across his face that echoed across the room. He nodded, licking his lips to contain his frustration.

Theodore turned to Dakota.

Nodding swiftly, he turned to Stephanie who raised her hands and walked backwards, plucking one of the tickets from her brother’s pockets. “Got it, I’m gone.” She disappeared down the hallway.

Shahnaz grabbed Alina’s arm. “You’re going to be like this? Breaking shit? Running away? It’s not like I hid it.”

“Because that’s better, you son of a bitch. I knew the minute I met you that you’d never be able to deal. I may be an emotional wreck but at least I’m not fucking flighty. You want to talk about running away you bastard? Let’s go. Lay it on me. Me running away so I don’t put in my six inch stiletto heel through your throat. At least I’m not a faithless whore or a homewrecking slut. I guess I can be a freak, but I can’t be spineless and amoral. I guess we can call that a character flaw since it’s not like you have any ethics. Do you care about me at all or was this just a game to you? Was she good? Did you like her better than me? She’s got the shape of little boy but I guess you’re into that. Is that what you want to talk about? Or can I go back to leaving while you go back to running away when shit got too hard?”

Shahnaz let go of her like she burned him.

Her eyes wild and furious met Theodore’s as she swiped the lipstick from her lips in such an aggressive gesture that he raised his eyebrows. Kicking off her high heels, she accepted the sweatshirt Rory held out for her, pulling it on, twisting her hair up into a bun viciously, and raising the hood. Mascara smudged from her tears, Alina paused beside them, cocking her head to examine Dakota.

Behind her, Shahnaz shook off Mizra’s gesture of either comfort or reproach, Theodore couldn’t tell, but what he did know was that it was a good thing he’d started to write songs specifically for her because there was no way she’d be able to work with Shah ever again. Azadi may not be done, but Alina certainly was about to be.

“You must be the cop. Dakota. You’re attractive.”

“You’re Alina Rosen.”

“Ali. Ali Rosen. I’m genderfluid. And I’m done being a girl today. Concert or no concert.”

Dakota tilted his head, mouth falling open in shock. Nodding swiftly, Rory said something to a PR intern that scuttled off quickly towards wardrobe.

Azadi’s manager, Melanie, shrieked worriedly. The crew’s eyebrows rose, everyone suddenly finding something else to do. Rory waved the intern over quickly while Theodore shifted closer to Alina at Melanie’s ire. Khaleesi growled warningly, Dakota gripping the dog’s collar automatically.

“What are you doing Alina?”

“Me? Does the charade matter now that I’m not fucking my boyfriend because he’s fucking the girl your hired to pretend to be his girlfriend? You should stop paying her. It makes her look like a whore _and_ a homewrecker. Imagine that.” Alina—Ali—declared without the slightest shred of remorse, scrubbing her makeup off her face with the sleeve of her sweatshirt and spit. Face hardening and posture straightening into a military rigidity, expression fierce, daring Melanie to say something.

Melanie glanced over at Dakota who eyed them curiously, dog still growling. “A little discretion please,” she hissed beneath her breath.

Ali scoffed out a laugh. “We are so far beyond that,” he reached beneath the sweatshirt to claw at the dress’s zipper before turning to Theodore who unzipped it dutifully. He stripped it off revealing the lacy underwear over olive-toned skin and the bulge of his tucked cock. Everyone in a nearby radius seemed to flee except Rory who offered Ali a pair of Theodore’s skinny jeans. He pulled them on, zipping up the fly and buttoning the pants, tipping his chin up at Melanie. “Scared?”

Melanie clenched her jaw.

Nodding, Ali tossed the dress to Rory with a playful smile, turning to Theodore. “Obviously I’m emotionally unstable and can’t perform tonight.”

“Forgiven,” Theodore said shortly.

“Wow, I came at an interesting time.” They turned as one towards where Harry stood appearing almost as disheveled as Ali. There were dark bags beneath his eyes, hair greasy and half tucked beneath a beanie, and wearing a Middlesex University hoodie, sleeves pushed up to his elbows. Despite seeming to have arrived of the airport, passport sticking out of his pocket, he didn’t have a single piece of luggage.

“Hey,” Dakota greeted him kindly.

Harry’s eyes moved between Theodore and Ali, not a single shred of surprise in his eyes. He hooked a thumb over his shoulder and rocked on the balls of his feet. “I can come back later.”

Ali waved a hand dismissively. “Why? I had my emotional breakdown already. Your turn. I’ll take Live PD here and his puppy so they can buy me alcohol the size of my head at the concession stand.” Melanie started to argue, but Ali cut him off shortly. “Unless you think someone’s going to recognize me looking like this incarnation of myself? No. Great, buy me a drink because if I have to fetch my wallet, I’ll kill Shah and the basic bitch he had the audacity to bring here.”

Dakota nodded and released Khalessi’s collar. “I mean as long as you don’t order anything more expensive than Budweiser. I’m not sure my wallet could take the heat.”

“I can settle for Bud, but if you try to make me drink Corona I will actually force the bottle down your throat,” Ali said leaning Dakota to the hallway out to the main concourse.

Melanie cursed and pulled her phone out of her pocket, shaking her head and walking away.

Harry watched her go mulishly before sighing. “Well, Alina’s going solo.”

“Well, I’ve been working on her solo album since I started dealing with Azadi over my break.”

“I know,” Harry shrugged, rubbing his eyes.

Theodore grabbed his hands and tugged him away from the outbreak of chaos. Unusually docile, Harry allowed Theodore to tow him to his dressing room with no complaints or snide comments whatsoever. Marceline and Claire took one look at Harry and saw themelves out, looking no safer outside when Azadi was having a meltdown, Melanie was raging, and Theodore had taken a backseat to his usual micromanaging to coax his boyfriend into conversation.

When the door closed, Theodore turned to Harry, arms crossed anxiously. He bounced on the balls of his feet while Harry pressed his lips together and tilted his face up towards the ceiling.

“What do you need?” Theodore asked softly because Harry was definitely not okay.

“If I help Cris and Irial, then I get fired,” Harry told Theodore. He softened and perched on the edge of his vanity, waiting for Harry to continue. “If I don’t help them, then they’ll do something drastic that I could have prevented. They’ll make a mess and fuck up something bigger, and I might get fired anyway.”

Theodore nodded, “They put you into an impossible situation.”

“I want stand here and say they deserve to be out, and I want to help them because I get it. But I don’t. Cris Emerson is pansexual and agreed to hide his sexuality because he thought since he could still fuck girls it wouldn’t matter anyway,” Harry summed up coldly. “And we can clean it up however we want; I can take this to Dissident and say he didn’t understand the terms of the contract because legally he didn’t, but he _knew_ what he was getting into and didn’t think it would be a problem. Now I’m going to lose my job because Irial and Cris think the world owes them something. You want me to tell you something I haven’t told anyone? My mom doesn’t like that I’m bisexual, ignores it completely, but I never hid it from her because this is who I am.”

Theodore stared at him knowing where this is going. It wasn’t a wonder Harry had never formulated stable long-term relationships prior to Theodore. They took such absurdly staunch responsibilities for their choices that it infuriated them when people aligned the choices they made against the world and said it was society’s fault. It was not the norm to take, and likely had not endeared Harry to majority of the very out, proud, and passionate LGBT community in London. But just because Theodore knew and understood, didn’t mean Harry didn’t need to say it.

“They’re acting like the world owes them something. But I never hid, knowing what my mom would think, because if I made that choice everything that happened from that moment forward would be _my fault_ because of _my choice_. Society doesn’t have to accept you the way you are after you spent years lying to them because you’re afraid. Don’t get to be mad about straight being the ‘default sexuality’ when everyone lies and hides to protect themselves. We’re all afraid. You made the choice to hide, and people have the choice to respond to that however they want. Life’s not fair, but raging against a situation you put yourself in is irrational. It’s not society’s fault you’re not confident enough about yourself to be honest from day one. The world owes them nothing, and neither do I. Irial acts like I’m supposed to be on their side because we all like our own sex or whatever. But I think I’m normal so I don’t feel like I need align myself with people who swear there’s nothing wrong with them and then unite to say they’re different an proud. They knew what they were doing now they backed me into a corner to save them.”

Harry steamed for a moment, and Theodore let him. He looked up at Theodore and said seriously:

“I want to let them drown in the mess they made.”

“You won’t,” Theodore spoke finally. Harry grimaced, hands fisting and head shaking like he wanted to throw something. It seemed to be the day for it so Theodore offered him a snow globe he’d picked up as a gag gift for his mother, watching as Harry hurled it across the room to watch it shatter. “As angry as you are, and as much as they deserve to face their choices, you won’t let them drown. So, what are afraid of?”

Harry inhaled deeply and let out his breath with a long jagged sigh. The tension seemed to drain out of him, and he trudged to Theodore, standing between his legs and wrapping his arms around his neck. They pressed their foreheads together.

“I’ll be fired either way, but I need professional leeway long-term to make this work. Dissident will keep me on to manage the mess temporarily, but I’ll have to open my own firm. I mean, fuck, Teddy. I’m twenty-four. I’ve been employed full-time for barely three years. I’m an infant, and I was fired. We’re talking business loans and tax codes and employees. I’m a great fixer, but I’ll have to do like ground-level PR work too. And I’d have to solicit clients.”

Theodore laughed and shook his head. “You know pretty much everyone famous in the industry, everyone with secrets, and would be facilitating the biggest coming out in the last decade. Don’t act like you’d have to solicit clients. Bailey calls you all the time. I know you’ve been talking with Salem since springing him from prison. When Charlie decides to come out, Salem will send him to you. Alina’s going to need a freelance publicist very very soon. So what’s the real problem? Are you afraid you’ll fail or that you won’t?”

Harry bit his bottom lip, tears welling in his eyes. He shifted uneasy and swiped the tears from his eyes, hands shaking and face uncertain. On a jagged exhale, Harry confessed slowly, “I need security. I need to know that I’m getting paid, that I can pay my bills, that I can afford rent and make loan payments. I need to know that I’m okay. And this is so far at the edge of the cliff, I already feel like I’m falling. It’s a loan to pay another loan to fix a problem my so-called friend created because he’s entitled. It’s insane.”

Nodding, Theodore cupped Harry’s face in his hands, throat dry and his own eyes prickling with unshed tears. He shook his head and met Harry’s gaze unflinchingly. “You and I we don’t talk about money, because you can’t. I get that, but we both know we were going to discuss moving in together when your lease is up in September so let’s just plan for that now. You’re not alone. And you’re more capable than you think you are.”

“And what if this doesn’t work?” Harry asked desperately, already panicking at the thought of moving in together.

“I know you need to ask questions like that, but we can’t live in that limbo of uncertainty. We’ll never get anywhere. It’s a risk, but everything is.” Harry met Theodore’s eyes and bit his lip nervously. “I love you. And if you’re really drowning, I’ll save you even if you beat me up about it.”

Harry laughed wetly and pressed his face against Theodore’s shoulder to sob. Theodore held him tightly with the feeling like time was slipping through his fingers.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought a lot about Harry's breakdown this chapter mostly because it wasn't intended to be a breakdown but a discussion however panicked. It became this. In terms of Harry's character, he shoulders a lot of responsibility and craves security. He was the first out of his college friends to secure a job he'd basically been courting for months. It didn't make sense that he'd jump into entrepreneurship like it was all a game. It wasn't until I was writing Harry that I had to examine Cris and Irial from his eyes. Don't get me wrong, he loves his friends but he hates them a bit too. There was no consideration about their actions affecting him, but more people than them were involved and Harry bore the immediate brunt of the fallout. As for Alina and Shah, if you've read the other books I imagine most people knew they were together. They were end goal for me until they weren't. This happened suddenly and surprisingly but it felt like such an organic breaking point that I stuck with it. Sometimes love isn't forever and mistakes can't be fixed and we all have to live with the consequences. Anyway, I'll probably update everyday this week. Probably.


	24. "Flare Guns" by Quinn XCII ft. Chelsea Cutler

**Text message from Shahnaz**

**Shahnaz:** do you know where Ali is?

 **Shahnaz:** Theodore she’s been gone for hours

 **Shahnaz:** Can you at least tell me when she’s coming back?

 **Shahnaz:** I need to talk to Ali

 **Theodore:** I will actually kill you

 **Theodore:** How dare you fucking text me after what you did to my best friend.

 **Theodore:** Go fuck yourself. Find your boyfriend yourself.

 

To: mustlovedogs@gmail.com.uk; chriscrossedmicah@gmail.com.uk; djkinsey@gmail.com.uk; rosieireland@gmail.com; cherrietayberry@gmail.com.uk; owlguardiansoren@gmail.com.uk; dearpenney@gmail.com.uk; beverlydixon703@gmail.com.uk; miranda2nite@gmail.com.uk; angus.murdoch.123198@gmail.com.uk

From: haroldpotter6999@gmail.com

Subject: URGENT FUCKING OPEN IT

Our favorite sort of closeted boys are taking a four day vacay for Irial's birthday to head down to Hawaii and go wander around their annual hula festival thing...whatever, don't care, that's not the reason behind the mass group email. I'm assuming we all saw that disastrous interview that Dissident royally screwed where Cris lied and cried and ended up being attached to Irial for three days, which included him following and sitting in studio like the puppy he is and basically being covered in lovebites and wearing Irial's clothes. Unacceptable. We're done. I don't think Cris can handle another year of this. We all need to have a sit down once they leave and discuss this. Rosie has been talking to a contract lawyer. I've been going over options and plans. We all need to weigh in on this. Friday, April 27 meet up at 20:00 at that amazing Italian restaurant on Primrose Hill by the pub and the gelato shop ready to work shit out. We have a reservation under 'Operation Out'...kidding it's under Rosie Ireland because...reasons.

Harry

 

**Text message to Sullivan**

**Harry:** I’m going to need not you but someone you know

 **Sullivan:** Not me????

 **Harry:** I’m going to need you for personal reasons

 **Sullivan:** Are you starting a PR firm?

 **Sullivan:** You tell me. You’ll need a fulltime lawyer and I’ll have to give 30 days notice.

 **Harry:** Lmao I guess I do, and I am.

 **Sullivan:** I’ll get you a contract attorney XD

 

**Is Alina Rosen leaving Azadi?**

Maverick’s Away for the Weekend World Tour has been surprisingly free from behind the scenes drama, but his streak ended Monday night during his Charlotte, North Carolina performance when Azadi was forced to suddenly perform without Alina Rosen who's lead vocals on a lot of the band’s songs. According to the band’s rep, Rosen became ill suddenly and couldn’t perform, but fans wondered if there was perhaps an argument that precipitated Rosen’s sudden departure. She returned the next day for the band’s concert in Raleigh but sources close to the band say she slept in Maverick’s tour bus rather than Azadi’s and Maverick announced later during an interview that he and Alina were working on a song together prompting even more rumors that not only was Alina leaving the band, but that Maverick might actually be leaving Chesapeake for his long-time friend. There’s been no official confirmation, but it sure is suspicious.

> **Comments:**
> 
> **nana1062x:** why is this suspicious? They’re friends. They’re musicians, people don’t always get along.
> 
> **10_10trina:** I went to the show in Indianapolis, Azadi looked fine.
> 
> **Anonymous:** The press just wants Mav to be a cheater
> 
> **lovin_alina:** I mean I love Alina/Maverick but they’re just friends? Why is this such a hard concept to grasp
> 
> **Anonymous:** Always looking for trouble. No problems in Toronto either so maybe the press should chill

 

**Alina Rosen (@AlinaAzadi)**

A Montreal breakfast with the boo @MaverickOfficial

 

**Maverick (@MaverickOfficial)**

@AlinaAzadi we’re sooooo doing Legal Seafoods in Boston fyi

 

**Maverick (@MaverickOfficial)**

Let’s all just stand here and let me fangirl over Mohegan Sun. Okay? Okay. #imfine

 

To: sterling.harry@dissidentmanagement.com

From: adelaide.johanna@dissidentmanagement.com

Subject: Cris Emerson

I know what you’re doing and I know why you’re doing it, but I like you. I don’t want to have to break in a new fixer. And I wish you wouldn’t.

Johanna

 

To: harrybentonsterling@gmail.co.uk

Cc: haroldpotter6999@gmail.co.uk

From: alexander.sullivan@thompsonhardwicke.org

Subject: RE: Business Arrangements

Whenever you’re ready I have all the documents prepared. We just have to sign and submit them. Obviously, you should probably wait until you’re fired or not, the back gave you the business loan anyway.

Best,

Alexander Sullivan

 

**Text message from Harry**

**Harry:** I’m freaking out

 **Theodore:** Sign the papers Harry

 **Theodore:** I’ll be home in like 2wks so just chill until then

 **Harry:** I thought you were working with Azadi

 **Theodore:** azadi’s not working. They’re arguing

 

**Maverick cheating on Chesapeake?**

For weeks, it’s been apparent that Alina Rosen and Maverick’s closeness had been tighter than usual. They did breakfast together publicly every day from Montréal to New York.   And finally she was spotting coming out of a hotel room with popstar while they performed in New York. According to new sources, they’ve been spending the night together every night since the Charlotte show. “It makes Chesa very uncomfortable,” a source close to the star said, “she thought they had something real going and to have it thrown back in her face is incredibly hard.” No doubt, especially since they’re on tour together for another week and a half. But maybe it’s all a misunderstanding.

 

**Chesapeake Maro (@ChesaSings)**

I didn’t sign up for this bullshit. Don’t make me look like a fool.

 

**Text message from Harry**

**Harry:** She’s being so dramatic about this. Like the press doesn’t make a big thing out of this all the time

 **Theodore:** You’re not going to ask?

 **Harry:** If you wanted to date Ali you would have just done it

 **Theodore:** Well I always knew this relationship would implode

 **Theodore:** She’s so vain. All about appearances

 **Harry:** No shit.

 

**Alina Rosen (@AlinaAzadi)**

Drama drama drama and not a drop to drink. In other news: Philly! @MaverickOfficial: cheesesteaks

 

**Maverick (@MaverickOfficial)**

Last show of #AwayfortheWeekendTour you’ve all been so amazing. And it was an honor to get to perform for you #washingtondc #theend

* * *

The thing was that when his cousin Delilah had accused him of bottoming for Harry, she hadn’t necessarily been wrong however troubling the comment was. Theodore had always preferred to bottom, which likely stemmed from how big of a control freak he was professionally and what everyone assumed he was like in his private life. On occasion, he and Harry switched, but it never quite satisfied Theodore the same way being fucked did because nothing compared to the feeling of being stretched and filled and pushed to the edge of his limits.

Of being stretched across his bed wrists tied to headboard of the king sized round bed Harry had purchased and had installed in the master bedroom he’d co-opted while Theodore had been gone. His muscles burned, face pressed against the soft moss green bed sheets he’d never seen before in his life. He panted, chest heaving, as Harry pounded into him, working him over thoroughly, setting his body on fire with expert precision, hands skimming across Theodore’s overheated flesh and making him writhe and flex beneath a simple touch that felt like too much.

Harry stretched out above him, chest brushing Theodore’s back as he fumbled to untie Theodore’s hands. One tangled in Theodore’s hands, he pulled Theodore upright, shifting his position inside Theodore and startling another moan from his lips. His knees shifted where they bracketed Harry’s, sinking lower on his cock and preventing him from breathing entirely. He tilted his head back against Harry’s shoulders, hands reaching up to tangle in Harry’s messy waves of hair.

With a huff of laughter, Harry asked, “You okay?”

With one hand gripping Theodore’s hip in a bruising grip to keep him still and other brushing teasing touches across his dick, the answer was a solid no.

“Fucking hell, Harold,” Theodore complained, tighten his grip in Harry’s hair until he hissed. “Move,” he barely had enough air to order.

Laughing quietly, Harry pressed a delicate to the column of Theodore’s throat, warm, calloused hand wrapping around the girth of Theodore’s cock. He nipped the fragile skin of his neck and pulled out before delivering a brutal thrust that knocked the air from Theodore’s lungs, eyes rolling back when Harry’s teeth sunk into his skin with enough force that he’d have the bruise for weeks.

The assault on his body, taut as a wire in Harry’s lap, had him spilling in minutes, Harry name on his lips, with Harry following not longer after. Collapsing together on the soiled sheets, Theodore turned in Harry’s arm to press a lingering kiss to his lips. Harry kissed him back, their lips moving languidly together, slow and warm and loving not the frenetic desperation to feel each other but something familiar and sweet but still passionate.

A fist pounded against the door, and Theodore jumped while Harry shifted on his back with a long-suffering sigh.

“What Ali?” Harry called through the door.

“You done? Because you’ve been at it for two hours, and I’ve waited patiently. I took your dog on a walk and picked up brunch from some cutesy place down the street. Now I’m back, and Teddy has a…guest,” he said, voice sounding weird on that last word. Theodore furrowed his brows and considered who’d have come to visit him right now. All of his team had a solid three weeks off for downtime post tour since over a year was a long time to be ‘on’ all the time. “Get your asses up.”

Harry nodded with irritation on his face as he turned to Theodore. “Why would you bring her back here?”

“Because my home in London has my cheating ex-boyfriend, evidence of our fake life together, and probably his whore so can you stop talk smack about my already sad living situation?”

Sighing, Harry nodded and pressed a kiss to Theodore’s lips, pointing a finger at him. “This is all your fault.”

Theodore smiled impishly while Harry sighed and pulled himself out of bed. Shaking his head, Harry raked his fingers through his sweat soaked hair and plucked a pair of Arsenal joggers off the floor. Theodore skimmed his fingers up Harry’s spine, and Harry smacked his hand away with a glare.

“Don’t touch me. I’m wearing pants instead of fucking you because _you_ brought Ali home. This is your mess. Get up, put on clothes, don’t touch me,” Harry said, sharking his head while hiding his smile.

“You’re not going to put on a shirt?”

Harry scoffed and yanked open the door and stepped out into the hallway, closing the door behind him. He could hear the nails of the dog scraping against the hardwood floor outside the door.

Theodore sat up cross-legged on the bed and looked around the space that had once been his parents’. They’d been telling him for years that since he’d bought the house, he might as well make it his own. Apparently all it took was a thirteenth month concert world tour and giving his boyfriend almost free reign of his house. He’d cleaned all Theodore’s personal stuff out of his childhood bedroom—not that there had been much—and purged what little had remained in the master, boxing it up and placing it into the closet of the bedroom downstairs. He’d made the beds in the downstairs bedroom, converting them into nice guest bedrooms.

However much Harry insisted he didn’t live there, the new master bedroom said otherwise.

There was a dark gray Chesterfield loveseat with a matching ottoman. A black corner desk stretched out in the corner of the room with file cabinets, an industrial safe, his laptop, tablet, desktop, and printer tucked away along with file folders, papers, and a mess of pens, highlighters, and erasers. A wall mounted bulletin board held all of Maverick’s fragmented songs and a patterned ivory and silver area rug was spread across the floor. A raised dog sofa bed for the dog sat off to the corner of the room for Attila.

It was homey, comforting even, a mixture of both of their styles, and a place that felt surprisingly lived in for both of them rarely being homed together.

Not nearly as curious as he should be, Theodore pulled on a pair of long, fitted jeans with the hem frayed and a Henley, tying up his hair into a bun and putting on his glasses. When he opened the bedroom door, Attila barked from where he stood on the stairs, tail wagging excitedly. He licked Theodore’s wrist before turning to guide Theodore down the steps two flights to the hallway.

Somehow the entire world seemed to gather in the kitchen and dining room, probably since the living room was such a weird shape. Ali was sitting on one of the dining chairs cross-legged in a pair of sweatpants and one of Theodore’s black wifebeaters. His long hair was in two French braids, Theodore’s acoustic guitar in hand. Harry stood awkwardly in the kitchen with Attila sat at his feet preparing two cups of tea. Rosie also sat at the table sipping Starbucks coffee with a blond man Theodore had never seen before beside her.

What he did not expect was his mother to also be sitting at his table, ankles crossed, and buttering a scone like she lived here on a daily basis.

“Wow…” Theodore drawled slowly, walking towards Harry. He was offered a cup of tea that he took with mild disbelief. “Everybody’s here.”

“That’s Alexander Sullivan from Thompson and Hardwicke,” Harry told Theodore, seeming to recognize his hesitance. “He’s my corporate attorney. He’s basically you in the legal world.”

Alexander Sullivan grinned and nudged Rosie with her elbow. “Did you hear that? I’m fucking awesome.”

Rosie scoffed and gaped at him for a moment before rolling her eyes. “How are you so renowned for being an attorney?”

“Says the woman giving up songwriting to write press releases,” he stated with a bright smile.

“It’s all crafting a narrative. Same difference,” Rosie said with a cheeky smile.

Ali crooked an eyebrow, shaking his head, fingers picking at the strings. He paused and looked up at Theodore who had yet to look away from his mother. She sat serenely at end of the table in a kaftan, sipping her tea and nibbling on her scone, dark eyes staring straight back into Theodore’s. “I’m not feeling the usual brand of mindless pop music for my solo album, you know? I mean theoretically I could go Camila Cabello but, eh,” Ali shrugged. “But I definitely don’t want to go left field rocker indie as Harry Styles, you know?”

“I was think alternative,” Theodore said without looking away from his mother. “Close enough to pop to be accessible but experimental enough that we can say a lot and switch up the sound, play with your vocals a little. And if you want to go into pop music more traditionally afterwards, it would be an easy transition. I composed some stuff we’ll have to look at, but I don’t want to handle lyrics. It’s your story to tell, and I think you should tell it.”

“And get sued?”

“Shah knows better than to sue you. My lawyers are better than his,” Theodore said cruelly before looking over at Harry.

Harry nodded his head and pointed at Rosie and Sullivan. “We need to go discuss how to force contract renegotiation and formulate a plan for Cris now that both he and Irial are finally on board with following my directives. Ali…” Harry said pointing a finger at the singer who looked up at him with amusement and infinite patience. “This my subtle way of giving them privacy.”

“Oh,” Ali drawled with a burgeoning smile and a shameless shrug. He got to his feet and hooked the guitar strap over his shoulder. “Should I go brainstorm with you?”

“Not necessary,” Harry said with a grimace.

Laughing, Ali nodded. “It’s cool. I’m out anyway. Mizra and Yasmin called. They want to do lunch and convince me either to stay in Azadi or forgive Shahnaz. Really, it could go either way.”

“Awesome,” Harry agreed, tossing Ali his house keys and pointing a finger at him warningly. “Do not get photographed with them as a man. I’m telling you right now to avoid paparazzi. Cris and Irial make such a mess of everything they touch that I don’t have time for a pansexual boybander’s coming out _and_ a genderfluid popstar’s reveal. You get me?”

“Got it,” Ali agreed, hopping out of the chair to press a kiss to Mabel’s cheek and wave at Theodore.

He took full stock of Ali’s clothes and sighed. “Steal something from my closet please. You look homeless.”

Ali flipped him off but didn’t disagree.

Harry gave Theodore a soft kiss, tossing Mabel a cautious look before slipping out the door, complaining to Rosie that the house had absolutely no flow pattern of any sense and how he wanted to take a sledgehammer to the wall. Sullivan paused to tap his finger on the wall dividing the kitchen from the entrance hall.

Laughing under his breath, Theodore returned his attention to his mother, sobering abruptly. “You’re here.”

“You don’t have to seem so disappointed,” Mabel said boldly, setting down her tea cup and crossing her arms. “I waited until after tour. I gave you a week to get yourself together and call me.”

“I called dad.”

Mabel huffed and waved her hand dismissively. “Yes, you certainly did. It’s _June_ , Theodore. It’s been over a year since I’ve talked to you. Since I’ve heard anything other than indirect, secondhand pieces of information about my son, Theodore. How do you think that makes me feel?”

Theodore shrugged and replied, “How do you think it makes me feel to have my family treat me like prized cattle awaiting the slaughter. That’s kind of fucked up. And okay you and dad weren’t involved, but you knew what was going on and chose to ignore it. Calvin and Donna, I can understand. And dad never pretended to be anything but disgusted by your family’s blatant grab for my money. But you’re my mother and you were so worried about placating your family that you handed me over to them to be bled dry.”

“I didn’t,” Mabel said in a whisper, eyes welling with tears. She got up to come over to him, but Theodore backed away shaking his head. Attila rose to his feet to keep his body between them, not growling but also not certain about Mabel’s approach. She laughed wetly and looked down at the dog with an odd glimmer of joy in her gaze. “You got a dog. Curtis didn’t tell me you got a dog.”

“Harry got him for me,” Theodore said uncertainly, placing a hand on Attila’s neck, and feeling the dog calm beneath Theodore’s touch. “What do you want from me, mama? Because if it’s apology for not calling you for a year, I think you deserved that. Like I haven’t been used enough in my life. If you want to choose your family over me, that’s fine, but don’t come here acting like I’m in the wrong.”

“You are my family. Why wouldn’t you think that? Theodore!” Mabel argued in disbelief. Nudging the startled dog out of the way with her leg, Mabel cupped Theodore’s face in her hands and shook her head. “You’re my son. I love you. You know that.” Theodore shook his head, and Mabel’s grip tightened, making him purse his lips and stare at her uncomfortably. “You’re so hard on yourself. You’re determined to be alone. After all these years, you still don’t trust that I love you.”

Theodore didn’t know how to respond to that. He looked away and rubbed the back of his neck with his hand.

Even if that hadn’t been true, love wasn’t always enough. So Mabel loved him, but she loved her family more. Loved her family enough that her betrayal of him had seemed the lesser infraction.

“Do you trust that Harry loves you?”

He straightened and backed away from her, raising Attila’s hackles again. The dog rose on all fours and pinned his mother in place with a warning growl. “I trust that Harry wouldn’t do to me what you did. Whether he loves me or not is immaterial, he respects me enough that he wouldn’t let people barter me away like a piece of meat only worth something after the slaughter.”

Mabel’s eyes watered as she shook her head. “Teddy, sugar, that’s not how it was.”

“I know how it was,” Theodore said tonelessly. “By the time you knew I was doing drugs, I was hiding it well and you didn’t know how to fix it so you let it go. And when your family realized, well, they just wanted a chunk of my estate when I eventually OD’d, and you loved them enough to ignore that. So maybe I’d be okay not being loved, if I can at least be respected. People in this industry don’t love me, and they get me drugs when I need them so that I’m compliant. But this industry respects me. My manager listens to me. My publicist doesn’t like it but she falls in line. And the studio would let me produce a rap album if I wanted because they know what I’m capable of. So don’t stand here and tell me you love me. That I’m your son. That’s not enough to justify you selling me out to your family. I’ve had enough of being used for other people’s benefit. I’m done with that. I have a host of problems all my own that are no conducive to supporting parasites.”

Mabel reeled back like he struck her, hand on her chest and tears welling her eyes. “What they did was wrong, Teddy, but they’re not parasites. They’re you’re family.”

“No,” Theodore said, shaking his head slowly, “they’re yours. I think you should go.”

“Teddy,” Mabel tried to come towards him, tear spilling from her eyes.

Attila growled menacingly.

“Mabel,” Harry said from behind her, standing in the doorway between the hall and the kitchen, studying her considering. Mabel hastily wiped the tears from her eyes, and Harry looked to Theodore. He shook his head and turned away, breathing hard and eyes prickling. “Come on, Mabel. Do you need a cab? I think this is still too raw,” Harry said, voice growing faint as he led her to the door. A moment later he reappeared in the doorway, and Theodore turned to him, trying to swallow his tears. “Ali’s coming. I’ll take Mabel to her hotel, okay? I’ll be back soon.”

Theodore nodded slowly. Harry came to kiss him before heading to the front door, passing Ali in the hallway as he came towards Theodore.

Ali paused in the doorway, arms crossed and face tight.

“I think hate Shah,” Ali said suddenly, not what Theodore was expecting. He licked his lips, eyes already glazed with unshed tears. Not looking at Theodore, Ali continued. “He made me all these promises. He made me trust him. He made me love him. And then not only did he betray me and lie to me, he tried to justify it and tell me that I was making a mistake. That I was throwing him away. But you know what?” He asked, looking up at him through tears, expression lost. “I can only hate him if I still love him. How fucked up is that?”

Theodore felt his own tears beginning to overflow. “How could she do that to me? She knew what my life was like and how fragile I was and she did it anyway. Love doesn’t matter. I don’t care if she loves me! She doesn’t respect me, and even if she does, she loves them more. She loves more to the point that hurting me was the lesser evil than upsetting them. She broke me!”

“I know,” Ali said, coming over to hug him.

They stood together in the middle of the kitchen, crying and hugging until there were no more tears left to shed.

 


	25. "Friends" Marshmello ft. Anne-Marie

**Breaking Fourth (@breakingfourth)**

Have Hope Tour kicks off today in London :D!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! #PardonMyEnthusiasm

 

**YouTube Channel, Real Talk Daily: Maverick and Chesapeake**

**Mckinley:** For everyone else out there who’s a total Maverick fan, even though he announced he didn’t feel ready to put out another album quite yet. He _has_ stated that in addition to producing an album with an unnamed artist—I’m _so_ hoping it’s Alina Rosen, to be honest—that he will be releasing music within the next three months.

**Della:** Yeah, I was really worried he’d decide to take on a film role instead. I mean he looks great on camera, but we all root for new music from him especially with all these amazing collaborations he does.

**Mckinley:** No worries, he’s announced he’ll be releasing an EP before the end of the year. For fans who bought the album on iTunes, they’ll have the opportunity to purchase the EP for only 99 cents, so I’m pumped for that.

**Della:** Well speaking of Maverick, his ex-girlfriend, Chesapeake Maro, just released a single that fans are convinced is shading him. It’s called ‘The Fool’ and talks about being promised all of things only to be embarrassed in front of the world. I don’t know. Do we call this shade?

**Mckinley:** I’m going to go ahead and call it shade. I’m a huge fan of Maverick, and she makes really specific mention to some of their dates and the places they’ve gone. I mean this is not subtle. Even Maverick thinks it’s about him. He Tweeted out: “Narcissism is a trait one of us possesses in spades. To be clear only one of us took insult to a betrayal that didn’t exist.” I mean she picked the wrong celebrity to go after. His fans are not having it.

 

**Text message from Theodore**

**Theodore:** When are you leaving? Should we grab lunch?

**Harry:** A little before dinner we’re driving to Dublin like peasants.

**Harry:** Lunch is doable if you don’t get overwhelmed working with Nicky

**Theodore:** I’ve always got time for you. But you might have to remind me.

**Harry:** K babe. I’ll make time.xx

 

**Irial Dorian (@DorianII)**

Roadtrip with the babes and besties #scares #only2hrs #savemefromthehoes

 

**Holden Ireland (@holdtheirish)**

@rosieposie @Ariella_Em106 @DorianII @EmmaCross...worst roadtrip buddies ever O.O

 

To: sterling.harry@dissidentmanagement.com

From: adelaide.johanna@dissidentmanagement.com

Subject: RE: Cris Emerson’s Birthday Party

Harry,

I know you have everything well in hand, but you can understand why Dissident’s a little antsy can’t you? They wanted to send that dolt Samuel. Your sad sad replacement. Luckily I volunteered. So you’ll be seeing me at the party watching to make sure Cris and Irial behave.

Best,

Johanna

* * *

“Are you ever going to tell him?” Rosie asked, settling on the bar stool beside him and flagging down the bartender for a Mint Julep after they cut the cake. She rested her chin in her palm and raked her fingers through her hair to flick it back out of her face. Taking a sip of her drink, she blinked at him with a slight smile.

Harry looked over at her and scoffed, sipping his whiskey sour. “That’s what you want to talk about?”

Rosie shook her head and set her drink down pointedly. Her eyebrows rose pointedly as she tilted her head, crossing her arms over her chest. “I mean I guess we could talk about how I think we should hire Brandon Greer now that we have a business that will eventually require staffing. Or maybe the plan for Cris and Irial including the contingency plans you’ve drawn up in great detail because you think they’ll fuck something up like their mid-dance floor argument that led to their current bathroom quickie. But I thought I’d take a page out of your book and go for the jugular.”

Tilting her a look that said he was singularly unimpressed with her, Harry sipped his drink and examined her critically.

Not that he minded her pursuing the subject really. While he was doing his best to hiding his disintegrating relationship with Irial _from_ Irial, Rosie knew him well enough. She was secretive, mean, and manipulative, which he appreciated and related to. That did not mean he wasn’t so much of a control freak that he wouldn’t turn this game back on her. They’d had a very brief discussion about their living situation come their lease’s end in September, and Rosie had agreed to moving out without argument or snide comment about being whipped by a drug addicted popstar. If he hadn’t already been suspicious that she had a very serious boyfriend, then that would have sealed the deal.

“I mean I can get hiding who you’re dating for his own sake, especially since Cris and Irial don’t have the best history with secrets.”

Before she could continue, Harry nodded and said, “I bet you _can_ understand that. After all, you’ve been dating someone almost as long as I’ve been dating Theodore and hiding it both well and with determination. I’ve been trying to figure out why you’re hiding this so desperately, but I think I’ve got it worked out.”

Holding his gaze, Rosie crooked up the corner of her lips and took a sip of her drink. “But we’ve been playing this game for _years_. That I’m jealous of your so-called flings. That you’re jealous of mine. That we’re flirty and into each other. Like we didn’t try that seriously years ago and determine that we’re better as partners than as, well, _partners_. I do a body shot off of you, and we both exchange lusty gazes, and why? This is an elaborate ruse that’s gone on now since _before_ Theodore. Walk me through this one.”

“At first I thought it was Soren Reid despite his on-again, off-again thing with Poppy Beck and the rest of the international modeling community. But he’s such a playboy—however sweet and deep and insightful and whatever bullshit—that you’d never go for him. But I figured that to make you hide this hard it must be someone famous. So when I did mental math and calculated what I knew about your circle of friends it came down to two: Ani Tiernan and Benji Irving.”

Taking another sip of her drink, Rosie’s gaze remained locked on him steadily giving nothing away. She tapped her nails against the bar counter and nodded slowly. “Irial has no idea how badly he’s fucked up does he? You’ve almost completely checked out on that friendship. The only reason you even came to Cris’s birthday party was for your job and because I’d be here. You’ve completely written Irial off like he and Cris are wayward clients instead of friends you’ve known for years. At first I thought it was because you completely disagree with his and Cris’s general philosophy for life, but you’ve always disagreed with Irial’s opinions about the LGBT community. That can’t be what’s changed.”

Harry tucked a curl behind his ear and kept his eyes locked on Rosie’s, almost enjoying this game they were indulging in. It had only been a matter of time until they sat down and started pulling their secrets out, one cut to the jugular at a time. “Everyone says Ani Tiernan’s this party girl slut, but I know that’s not the whole truth. And so do you. She’s good friends with Soren so you know that she’s got nowhere near the number of lovers or issues as she presents to the magazines. And Benji co-write on his album, which meant the two of you would have spent a lot of time together. Benji and Penney had announced their breakup officially the month Theodore and I met. I mean, you can see how this time line looks to me right?”

Eyes holding, narrowed and cold, they both raised their glasses and sipped their drinks.

Rosie nodded and set her empty glass down on the bar first. He watched her silently, swirling the ice in his glass while he waited for her to decide what she wanted. They could play this what-if game all night, but if she wanted an answer to her question, then she’d have to give something in return.

“Benji. It’s Benji. Ani’s gorgeous and nice, but she’s way too flighty for my taste, here one day and gone the next. Benji reminds me, Freudian style, of my mother. He’s steady and dependable, but he’s also fun and spontaneous and loves to travel. We go riding sometimes together. I’ve met his mother. We’re moving in together. I just…people don’t need to know. I don’t need my relationship picked apart by fangirls, you know? I’m a person not cannon fodder. He might have chosen to live his life in public with all the consequences that come with that, but I didn’t.”

Harry understood that, could relate even.

Despite seeming incredibly outgoing, Rosie was a devoted introvert and a steadfast isolationist. If she could hole herself up in her room forever alone writing she would as long as she had a working coffee pot and pizza. Prior to Irial and Breaking Fourth, Rosie used her Twitter sparingly, Facebook rarely, and Tumblr never. Even now, her Instagram was all scenery, landscapes and animals rather than group trips and clubbing with friends. She was almost more intensely private than Harry. That she’d gotten involved with Benji at all spoke volumes about how much she liked him.

With a sigh, Harry downed the rest of his whiskey sour and set it on the bar beside her own glass.

Rosie waited for him patiently.

“I want to sit here and say Irial used me. He knew we were friends and forced me into a corner where I lost my job to protect him and Cris, that whether he knew he was cornering me or not, he knew I’d save them and let things get to this point. It’s true, but it’s not the reason.” Harry grimaced and shrugged his shoulders, shaking his head. “Irial was fun in uni, you know? When you and I were wild like that. Where everything was a fun game with no consequences. Irial’s a radio DJ, he gets paid to say whatever and be a general asshole. He didn’t have to grow up like I did. I have responsibilities and a job with actual real consequences to me personally and sometimes on a global scale. His antics aren’t funny anymore. His selfishness isn’t entertaining anymore. Okay, so he and Cris wanted to come out. Instead, they outed themselves into a corner and waited for me to save them at the cost of my livelihood and security. What did they lose? So Cris can’t come out as fast as he wants and Irial has to hide. There are worse things. We’re just not where we were. We can’t sustain the friendship we have. Irial gets to be the wild, reckless, and irresponsible ‘Irial Dorian’ forever, but I’m a fixer. And it’s hard to love someone who makes the messes you’re cleaning.”

Rosie bit her bottom lip and tilted her head, eyes examining him thoughtfully.

“And Theodore? Us?”

“It’s easier to lie when there’s an alternate story for someone to believe. Irial’s like gay turned up to one thousand. It’s so overwhelming. I am who I am, and I don’t need the world’s love, approval, or acceptance. I don’t give two shits, and when Teddy inevitably cares, I’ll only make myself care so that he can keep making successful music. I don’t need to be some social justice movement. I don’t care that much. I don’t think the situation’s that bad so I’m not going to rail against a system that I don’t think is anymore broken than it has a right to be. As for Teddy, if I let Irial know about that, the world would speculate within a week.”

“You don’t trust Irial.”

“Neither do you,” Harry pointed out. “He wants everything to be loud and out there. But it doesn’t actually have to be. If we’re going to talk about an industry that needs LGBT representatives to be championed and protected, let’s talk about Arthur Bailey whose boyfriend got arrested by Interpol for reliving his days in Anonymous to hack away Bailey’s gay sextape. I’m not interested in Irial trying to turn Theodore into a movement and neither is he. This a man who consulted me before writing a song to expose his relationship to Chesa as a PR stunt on his own EP. Irial doesn’t need to get involved.”

Rosie pressed her lips together and considered Harry’s words. She couldn’t argue about their trust in Irial. He lived his life loud and wanted everyone else’s to be loud too. Secrets died a quick and bloody death with him. Neither of them was in the habit of posting their lives on social media or starting fights with celebrity management companies over their boyfriend signed knowing full and well what it would likely entail. No one gay, bi, or whatever else went into the music industry with the thought that they’d be out and proud. It happened sometimes, more recently, but four and five years ago, the phenomenon was unheard of.

“It just feels like he got his adult life handed to him sometimes, you know?” Rosie asked quietly, running a hand through her hair. “It’s hard to be friends with someone so opinionated who didn’t have to work for what he has. At least half the reason Radio 1 came to him was because of Cris. And he got his dream job because of his dream man. He didn’t even have to handle this coming out himself! All he had to do was know people unwilling to let him drown, you know? Do you know how many rejection letters I got for my novel? For all _three_ of my novels?”

Harry nodded and sighed. “I don’t even know what I would have done is Johanna hadn’t found me. Dissident was my last chance. It was the only place that would give me an internship, and I didn’t have the patience to be a good intern. I just want to _do_ you know. Which isn’t appreciated from interns in a workplace that deals with sensitive information. Then I get hired and it’s ‘fix the problem or you’re fired.’ No one needs a fixer that can’t fix.”

Shrugging, Rosie admitted quietly, “I just can’t relate to him anymore.”

“I know,” Harry told her.

“Is Alina Rosen really going solo?” Rosie asked after an extended moment of silent between them.

Laughing, Harry ordered to rum and cokes before turning to her. She blinked her eyes at him and smiled brightly.

“Yeah. Shahnaz cheated on her with his PR girlfriend. Shit was explosive. I’m surprised Theodore hasn’t put a hit out on him…” he paused and cocked his head before amending, “I’m surprise Alina hasn’t put a hit out on him.”

Rosie nodded in agreement. “I’d cut his dick off because I’m sure she was worried and he lied to her for weeks.” Rolling her eyes, she smiled in thanks when the bartender returned with their drinks before waving a dismissive hand. “So like a man. Just come clean, you know? And why cheat? Alina seems chill. I mean she would have had a breakdown but probably not a public one. It’s not like they’re married.”

“Married people seem to kill instead of filing for a divorce.”

Tipping her glass towards him, Rosie grinned, “Don’t they, though? Maybe the moral is we should all be asexual like coral so that we don’t have to deal with crazy people.”

“Said the girl who wanted us to release sperm and egg into the wind to avoid interpersonal confrontation.”

“I see no problem with this. Whoever gets hit by a flying fetus gets stuck raising it.”

“That’s kind of a cool idea. Like a creepy biological version of _How the Grinch Stole Christmas._ ”

Rosie tossed back her hand and laughed while Harry pulled his phone out of his pocket. He frowned, eyebrows furrowing when he read the time. It was later than he’d thought, but Theodore almost always sent him a text around this time about whether he was out or at home or at the studio, which was where he tended to be most days with Attila.

**Harry:** Are you okay?

He fired off the text, confused and a little worried. Harry tapped his fingers against his glass and contemplated what could have happened, where he could be.

“Everything alright?” Rosie asked with feigned casualness.

Harry hesitated before opening his contacts and tapping on Ali/Alina’s name.

**Harry:** U heard from Teddy recently?

**Ali/Alina:** Nah why?

**Harry:** U at the house?

**Ali/Alina:** Yes…is something wrong?

**Harry:** Idk

Rosie put a hand on his forearm. “Harry?”

Before he could speak, Johanna appeared, flustered and frantic. Harry sighed while Rosie rolled her eyes, both already well aware of what this was about. What it was always about: Cris and Irial.

“Where did Iri and Cris disappear to a little while ago?” Johanna asked insistently before lowering her voice and forcing out, “And Irial?”

“They were in the bathroom fucking,” Harry said succinctly.

Rosie choked on her drink at the straightforward answer that she was obviously not expecting. At least she had more warning than Johanna whose mouth fell open in shock. Truthfully, getting fired had just removed any pretense that Harry cared about anything at all. It would annoy him if Irial and Cris got caught to fuck up his plan, but that’s what the contingencies were for. And, honestly, it’s not like he could get fired. There was no reason to sugarcoat or be discreet when they had already decided they weren’t going to.

“They were…what? Why? You knew?” Johanna demanded in disbelief, looking around wildly. Her eyes landed on where Cris’s ex-girlfriend, Beatrice Lerner, leaned against one of the high bar tables with a martini dangling from her fingers and eyes narrowed where Irial and Cris were talking with his bandmates over their slices of cake. That was mildly concerning, and Harry made a mental not of it. He was certain she didn’t necessarily want Cris, but to be ignored by him after expecting him to still chase her like a puppy was likely galling.

“Beatrice is here,” Harry said in answer to Johanna’s why. “Irial always gets a little weird about things like that.”

“Insecure,” Rosie clarified.

Harry nodded in agreement with another sip of his drink before shrugging at Johanna’s insistent look. “I’m not worried about. It’s not the first time they’ve shagged in public, and if they get caught I’ll handle it. If I let Cris and Irial stress me out, I’ll go prematurely gray by the end of the week. They’re record for discretion isn’t great. They’ll come out or be outed, I’m not worried.”

“I am,” Johanna retorted with mild disbelief.

Rosie wrinkled her nose and tilted her head. “Do you want a drink? Come have a drink.”

Reluctantly, Johanna allowed Rosie to tug her down onto the seat beside her. The bartender took one look at Johanna and delivered a full bottle of Jack Daniels and two empty glasses.

Harry raised his eyebrows at Rosie who grinned at him. He opened his mouth to speak, cutting off abruptly when his phone rang.

“Hello? Teddy?” He answered quickly without looking at the caller ID.

Johanna and Rosie both looked over at him, alarmed.

“No,” Washington said sounding strained. Harry frowned and sat up straighter. A cold feeling went through him, and he plucked Rosie’s phone from her fingers. That gut-deep feeling of wrongness settled in him as he pulled up flights from Dublin to London within the next couple hours. “It’s…I mean he…Harry it’s really bad. I think he OD’d, but I don’t…Harry. He’s vomiting, his heart rate’s over the roof, and he fainted before he had to wake back up to throw up. Ali’s frantic.”

“Where are you right now?”

Washington gave the name of a club not far from the house, and Rosie turned her whole body towards Harry, crooking an eyebrow. He tugged his wallet from his pocket to pay for the ticket before tossing Rosie her phone back.

“I’m getting on the next flight out of Dublin. Give me three hours,” Harry told him quickly. “Take him to the house. Rosie’s going to text you Graham Remington’s number. He’s a private doctor that’s been talking to me about Theodore’s condition. Tell him it’s an emergency and Theodore can’t go to the hospital.” He heard Washington say something either to Rory or Ali while he shook his head. “I just don’t understand what happened,” he said to Rosie.

“You and Rosie,” Washington said into the phone.

Harry paused, frowning and meeting Rosie’s eyes with confusion. “What?”

“He was fine. Then I guess he saw some picture of you and Rosie. Then it was one drink, then two, then he was in the bathroom snorting coke.”

Letting out a bitter laugh, Harry nodded, “Of course. I’ll be there in three hours.” He hung up without further comment, shaking with anger. Rosie watched him warily, eyebrows rising questioningly. “Fucking Irial,” he said under his breath. “I have to go back to London.”

Rosie nodded, “I’ll grab your stuff and bring it over. I ordered an Uber to take you to the airport.”

“Thank you,” Harry said sincerely, turning to leave when Irial came towards them through the crowd.

“Hey!” Irial started with a smile “What are you doing over here? Come join the—”

“Not everything has to go up on social media for the whole world to see Irial,” Harry cut him off shortly. “Putting up that picture of me and Rosie without telling us, let alone asking us, is completely inexcusable.” Without waiting for a response, Harry darted for the door of the pub, only distantly hearing Irial behind him asking Rosie what the hell was wrong with Harry.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No worries, they will eventually talk to Irial, but it's completely unrealistic Rosie had no issues with him. Irial pretty much got everything he wanted in the blink of an eye, but Rosie and Harry's careers haven't been anything like that. And everyone goes through growing pains in their friendship that doesn't mean I intend for them to cut Irial loose at all. And insecurity for Theodore is literally dangerous.


	26. "Scripts" by Chelsea Culter

**Text message from Ali/Alina**

**Ali/Alina:** Know ur probs on flight. Just wanted to let u kno. Doc came. He’s fine. Sleeping it off.

**Harry:** Thnx. Just landed b there soon.

 

**Teddy Langston (@TM_1996)**

I’m so embarrassed…

 

**Irish Rose (@rosieposie)**

@TM_1996 you should be.

 

To: crossesoflead@gmail.co.uk

Cc: wildechild@gmail.co.uk

From: sterling.harry@dissidentmanagement.com

Subject: Atlanta Fox News Interview

Cris,

Breaking Fourth's first appearance in the US will be the interview with Fox 5 entertainment in Atlanta. During that interview, you'll obviously (like always) be asked about your relationships during which time you can confirm you're seeing someone, that it's serious, but be as vague as possible about a) gender and b) the length of time you've been seeing each other. I don't want to touch on that definitively until you announce Irial's identity.

Hope you're ready for this,

Harry Benton-Sterling

Dissident Management

 

**Text message to Harry**

**Salem:** Are you coming to the thing?

**Harry:** I’m organizing a massive coming out for a boybander

**Salem:** \O/

**Salem:** You seem a little stressed. Are you stressed? Is your girlfriend coming?

**Harry:** omfg you’re as bad as Iri. We’re not dating. Yes, she’s going. I am abso-fucking-lutely stressed.

**Salem:** Surely not cuz of money. I’m paying you a lot.

**Harry:** This might be why you have such a hard time sustaining friendships.

**Salem:** We can’t possibly be talking about me.

**Salem:** Also we should go to Nicholson’s in Southwark when you come back.

**Harry:** Aggressive befriending

**Salem:** Bailey never complained :P

**Harry:** I’m just going to leave that there.

 

**Alina Rosen (@AlinaAzadi)**

@DorianII @CharlieBeck I’ll be seeing you both there then.

 

**Maverick (@MaverickOfficial)**

@CharlieBeck everyone’s going. I feel like I should now #justmight #couldbefun

* * *

“This is not Nicholson’s in Southwark,” Harry stated in greeting as his eyes fell on the man with violet and black hair standing outside Wahaca.

Salem turned around with a wicked grin spreading across his face as he tipped up his chin excitedly. “Harry,” Salem purred in greeting, looking up behind him at the sleek, ultramodern restaurant with electric blue storage cubes, big windows, and a simple sign in Tahoma font declaring it to be ‘Wahaca’ the pseudo-Mexican restaurant on London’s Southbank. He looked at the building like it surprised him, like he hadn’t asked to meet there. “Yeah, I miss Mexican food. Not that _this_ is the best example. London’s got sucky Mexican food.”

Harry rolled his eyes while Salem beamed. They walked into the restaurant, Salem requesting to sit outside to overlook the Thames in the last warm months of the year. August was already nippy but not cold enough that Salem who’d spent his most of his life living in Atlanta and San Francisco didn’t crave to be outside in the waning months of summer. Their burgeoning friendship was an interesting one.

From first glance, Harry hadn’t expected to like Salem. He’d reminded him strongly of Irial with his eclectic style and boyish charm. Then, Salem had drawn him in to work together. Looks aside, Salem had his shit together. He was a workaholic, micromanaging, terror of a boss, the absolute pinnacle of what Harry pictured as a mad genius. Even more adorable was his devotion to Bailey, which never took a backseat to work but also never entirely managed to take precedence. Harry liked the both of them and enjoyed the work that he did with Salem, and the fact that Salem understood and respected Harry’s job.

They settled across from each other at the lime green picnic table overlooking the water.

“Should we get pretty, girly drinks?” Salem teased, nodding his head with a grin. “We should, shouldn’t we?” He looked up as the waitress approached. “Hi, can I have a hibiscus margharita? And he’ll have a jalapiña. And we’ll have salsa and tortilla chips to share, please.” Salem said while the waitress blinked at them for a minute before smiling and nodding.

“What if I don’t like jalapeños?” Harry teased.

“Then I’ll drink it,” Salem said playfully.

Harry hummed beneath his breath. “I hear there was an issue. At the opening.”

Salem looked over at Harry, studying him silently before shrugging his shoulders dismissively. “There’s always an issue when you get a bunch of celebs all in one place together. And Iri and whoever else. But Georgia accosted your boyfriend and tried her usual brand of seduction on him. He was uncomfortable, and Alina put her in her place.” Harry nodded, having been told as much and immensely grateful that Alina had gone with him. “But then Maggie showed up.”

Balking, Harry raised his eyebrows. “Maggie _Gallagher_?”

“Uh-huh,” Salem said conspiratorially. “Apparently she’s back from California working in London and up to her usual shadiness.”

He’d had the good fortune not to run into her often, but by reputation alone, Harry had heard of her. The sister of actor, Patrick Gallagher, who was dating Salem’s ex-boyfriend, Charlie Beck, had a habit of breaking stories that ethically she had no right to break. Salem had once confided that she’d used her brother to get these stories to begin with.

“You’re worried about this,” Harry noted offhandedly.

Salem grimaced, “Maggie Gallagher goes for the jugular and draws blood. Between Maverick and Bailey, Bailey’s the jugular.”

Harry agreed.

No one looked at Maverick and expected to dig up secrets that didn’t revolve around multiple female lovers that he used and discarded, especially with Alina standing by to protect him. Of the pair, Bailey had the least scandals to his name and a fairly obvious fascination with Salem. They weren’t as obvious as Cris and Irial, but Bailey also didn’t really hide that Salem was his best friend and had been since before he’d officially broken up with his lesbian ex-girlfriend, Kanani Kapuana.

“You know you can call me if you need anything,” Harry said serenely.

Humming to himself, Salem crooked an eyebrow and studied Harry before saying, “Mav seems a little emotionally fragile.”

Shrugging his shoulders, Harry smiled at the waitress as she dropped off their drinks. They halted the conversation for a moment each taking a sip of their drinks. Their eyes met across the table, and they scowled. Salem exchanged their drinks while Harry laughed and dipped a tortilla chip into the salsa, popping it into his mouth.

“He is. He’s been like that for weeks. He OD’d last month while I was in Dublin.” Salem gaped at him in alarmed surprise. Harry nodded and took a long swallow of the hibiscus margarita. It wasn’t the best drink he’d ever had—really he’d rather have straight Tequila, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as the jalapiña had been. “Irial posted a picture of me and Rosie on Instagram, and Teddy just freaked out. We called a doctor to come pump his stomach and stabilize him. It shook him up a lot.”

“No shit,” Salem exploded, sipping his own drink with a pleasant expression. He crossed his arms on the table and examined Harry thoughtfully. “How long are you going to let Irial believe you and Rosie are a thing?”

“You sound like Rosie.”

“She has a point!” Salem exclaimed with a disbelieving smile on his face. “And your boyfriend has enough issues. If your relationship with Irial is at its close, then close that chapter. Stop lying to extend the life of a friendship that’s already expired, you know?”

Harry sighed and raked his fingers through his hair. “I know, okay? I do. I just, I don’t know why I can’t. I look at them like they’re the worst clients I’ve ever had because they are. Irial and I were friends for four years, I don’t know how to just close that chapter. Irial has no respect for what I do and has absolutely zero recognition that for what I deal with in consequence to _his_ actions. It’s infuriating.”

“I can agree with that,” Salem said lightly, shrugging his shoulders. “I mean Irial’s world revolves around him and Cris. That’s pretty clear, you know? He’s an okay friend, but not a great one. I like him, but I also haven’t been treated by him the way you have. And it’s okay not to love him like all your friends do. There’s nothing wrong with that. And I think Maverick needs that from you.”

“Yeah,” Harry said with a long sigh. He couldn’t deny that some part of this fell with him. Irial shouldn’t have posted that photograph, and Theodore shouldn’t have reacted that way, but Harry never should have put him in that position. But he didn’t want to address all these changes in his life. Maybe he needed to, though. “And he’s got his adoptive family and Chesapeake and trying to mediate with Alina and Shahnaz and Azadi. It’s a lot for him.”

Salem pursed his lips and nodded, sharp eyes remaining on Harry. “It’s a lot on you. Drug addiction. Coming outs. Starting a company.”

Rolling his eyes, Harry ran his fingers through his hair and looked out angrily over the Thames. “Yeah, Rosie convinced me to hire Brandon Greer. Sullivan wants us to get office space. My boyfriend’s a drug addict. I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop with Cris and Irial and Beatrice. Mabel’s calling me everyday asking about Theodore. I’m losing my mind.”

Salem laughed and nodded his head. “Don’t worry about office space. I bought out the entire building our offices are in. We don’t need all the space quite yet, especially since we’ve been setting up satellite facilities, and I’ve been convinced to move the actual R&D department to a industrial area so the kids blow things up without the cops getting called.”

“Nice,” Harry said with a laugh.

“And I hear you gave your boy the okay to take Chesapeake out of play.”

Harry shrugged dismissively. “People are so in love with the idea of Maverick being in love and committed that they almost prefer the thought that she was a publicity stunt than that he publicly cheated on her with his best friend. It’s not a huge shift in narrative to say he took the PR route to protect his relationship from public scrutiny—it’s even true. And it’s also true that Chesapeake took offense to people believing she was being cheated on. I’m not worried.”

“So what _are_ you worried about? You wouldn’t have come here if you didn’t need something,” Salem said. It wasn’t accusing, almost amused.

“I like you,” Harry argued plaintively, somewhat offended by Salem’s interpretation of the situation, though he wasn’t necessarily wrong.

The waitress arrived with a sharing plate of salmon and mushroom empanadas, buttermilk chicken tacos, roast chili quesadillas, and some other weird artisan street food. They thanked her before Harry turned back to Salem. He watched Harry with amusement, plucking a sweet potato and feta cheese taquito from the platter to cut it on his tray. Harry thought that perhaps ‘Mexican food’ was a bit of an overstatement for the restaurant.

“We’re friends.”

“We _are_ friends,” Salem said with a bright smile, scowling at the taste. He set his fork down with a disbelieving look, palms on the table as he whispered, “What do you Brits think Mexican food is?”

“That’s artsy Mexican food.”

“Who the fuck eats artsy Mexican food? I came here for greasy tacos, spicy salsa, and cheese. So, so much cheese. I’ve got sweet potato and feta.” Harry rolled his eyes while Salem reached for a quesadilla with trepidation. “And anyway, we’re busy, professional friends. The closest we get to bonding is helping each other with problems, sharing space while working, and buying each other coffee. Which is fine. I like things that way, but let’s be real here, I don’t mind.”

Harry sighed and ran his hand through his hair.

“Dido Lynn Darby.” Salem looked up at him, eyebrows rising as he considered that. “Teddy said awhile ago that she was weird. It’s been at least a year, but I haven’t been able to find anything on her. Nothing, but he swears she knew him, but he didn’t know her. I don’t know where else to look, but if it’s what I think, then he needs to know the truth.”

Salem rocked back on the bench and tilted his face up towards the sky. “So you only researched her?”

“Who else would I research?” Harry asked in confusion.

“Well, if she knows him but he doesn’t know her, then they probably did meet. He would have likely been younger than four or five.” Salem considered, biting his lip ring. His eyes narrowed while Harry waited. “People always remember to scrub their past clean, but they always interact with other people. If she knows Maverick, but he doesn’t know her then she’ll show in his past.”

“You want to look into Maverick?”

“No,” Salem said with a smile. “I want to look into Theodore Smith, which was his name when he was adopted. It’s definitely going to take some time, but I’ll look into it.”

“Yeah?”

“We’re bffs,” Salem said in a conspiratorial whisper.

“Don’t tell Charlie or Rosie.” Harry teased in reply, and Salem tossed back his head laughing delightedly.

* * *

Theodore had the headphones over her ears, head nodding at the beat and his sheet music notebook open and balanced on his knee. Attila’s head rested on his thigh, Theodore fingers moving lightly over his head while the dog snoozed in his lap. His EP was coming along at a rapid pace, but Ali’s was coming by more slowly.

They were constantly plagued by Azadi and Dissident calling her to round table meetings to negotiate staying with the band when she’d emotionally moved on. Harry had washed his hands after the first three-meeting week and let his new hire, Brandon Greer, go with her while Sully finished the paperwork end. Then there was Shahnaz whose attempts to talk with her always resulted in sit-down dinners that had Ali crawling back into the guest bedroom in tears. The anger and sadness and roller coaster of emotions were good for her music, but her emotional outbursts slowed progress considerably.

Attila’s head poking up, ears ahead alerted Theodore to Harry’s move for his attention. Theodore looked up pushing the headphones off his ears to look up at Harry sheepishly. He stood in the doorway of the living room in a hideous hat, nice jeans, and a blazer that made him look entirely too dressed up. Theodore frowned but didn’t press where Harry was going.

“Let’s go.”

“What?” Theodore asked dumbly.

But Harry ignored him whistling for the dog who hopped up off the sofa and trotted over to him excitedly, sitting at his feet while Harry hooked the leash to his collar. “You can come too, puppy.” The dog barked excitedly, tail wagging as he turned and peered over his shoulder at Theodore. “Let’s go, babe,” Harry said again.

Theodore hesitated before nodding uncertainly, closing his laptop and setting it aside on the sofa. “Okay,” Theodore said after a moment.

It took less than ten minutes for Harry to hustle Theodore out the door. Surprisingly, Harry interlaced their fingers heedless of the possibility of them being spotted walking down the lane. Attila walked between them, eyes tracking the movements of everyone around them and ears moving back and fourth at the sounds. The air was heavy, sky already a dark gray, a light drizzle falling and moistening their hair, clothes, and the streets.

Harry didn’t say anything as they walked, and Theodore eyed him cautiously.

They’d been off since Theodore’s overdose. He’d woken up to a doctor standing over him to check his vitals. Alina had been curled up in his sweatshirts, mascara running, and absolute horror on her face. Washington and Rory had been talking in quiet voices at the door while Attila sprawled out beside him whining anxiously. Harry had been there, flown in from Dublin, sitting cross-legged on the bed beside him and running a shaking hand through Theodore’s hair.

Neither of them had discussed it, and that had been two weeks ago.

Theodore was guided towards a sleek steak restaurant called gaucho with a red carpet leading to the door bracketed by two silver dog bowls. A pair of women stood outside with two small white dogs smoking and talking. He tensed, eyes on Attila, but Harry tugged him to the door while Attila led the way excitedly, thrilled that he could go inside.

The interior was dark with elaborate chandeliers on the ceiling, deep reds and blues, and the kitchen visible along the right side. A hostess greeted them with a smile, Theodore hiding his face but she only looked at him, smiling wider and rolling her eyes with amusement. “Don’t worry about it,” she whispered, “my brother, Sully, works with Harry. He’d kill me if I fangirled at work over his client. Should I sit you in the back?”

Harry nodded and thanked her with a bemused grin, resting one hand on Theodore back and the other holding Attila securely as he eyed the other dogs in the restaurant. The waitress, Olivia, sat them towards the back of the room leaving a bowl underneath the table where Attila curled up on Theodore’s feet. “Any drinks before I go?” Olivia asked brightly.

“Pinot Noir for him,” Harry said prompting a burst of laughter from Theodore. “And can I try the Bonarda Argentina?”

“Course, love, I’ll be right back for you order,” Olivia promised skipping away.

Theodore studied Harry over the menu. “Did I forget an anniversary?”

“Do we celebrate those?” Harry asked sincerely.

It wasn’t technically untrue. They rarely got each other presents or had these big blowout celebrations. For birthdays, they usually just did dinners and desserts together, making a point to actually spend the whole day together instead of flitting in and out. For holidays like Christmas and Easter, they tended to try for vacations instead. It worked better for them than trying to scramble together presents. Beside, Theodore could afford to get almost anything he wanted, and Harry rarely ever wanted anything at all.

Theodore laughed and shrugged with a smile.

Pausing, Harry’s smile fell as he stared across the table at Theodore. He tensed and quickly worked through his panic. Harry wouldn’t drag Theodore out to a nice restaurant with the dog only to dump him. Surprising Theodore yet again, he reached over to hold his hand. Theodore swallowed around the sudden lump in his throat, eyes prickling with tears. Harry sighed and squeezed his hand.

“Have you decided?”

Theodore’s eyes widened, not having read the menu with his internal dilemma.

“Should I just order stuff to share?” Harry asked with amusement. Theodore blushed and nodded slowly while Olivia hid her smile looking over at Harry. “Okay, sorry, can we have the trio of medallions, thin chips, wedge salad, and…do you want spiced corn soup or the soft shell crab?”

“Crab,” Theodore said with a smile.

“We’ll do that then, and when he inevitably gives you his card for the check, ignore him,” Harry told her pointedly. Olivia grinned and looked between them.

“I can pay,” Theodore argued.

“If I pretend to be insulted, will you shut up?” Harry returned. Theodore pressed his lips together, face heating more while Harry nodded. Olivia laughed and turned on her heel. Licking his lips, Harry tapped his thumb against the back of his hand. “I love you.” Theodore looked up at him startled. “You have to stop looking at me like a kicked puppy. I’m not angry. I should not have put you in that position to begin with, but I’m unused to handling my emotional games with someone else.”

Theodore bit the inside of his cheek and studied Harry silently before admitting slowly, “But I shouldn’t have freaked out the way I did.”

“It’s pointless for me to sit here and say something has to change. We’re just so deep into this that me sitting here and saying this pushed me to edge is just untrue. Every time you push me, I lose track of where my line in the sand is, and I don’t know what to do about that. At this point either you die or something insane happens to change this situation, so I don’t know what to do,” Harry admitted hesitantly. His smile was shaky, uneasy, utterly uncertain. “I just don’t know. So we’ll do this until it’s done.”

Theodore stared at him with a sinking feeling in his stomach and the realization that that was likely true. They’d do this until it was done, and he wasn’t sure how to handle that. He wasn’t really sure if he was ready to handle what that meant.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wahaca is real. I mean it's cool looking down on Southwark and made of these shipping containers but yes like the rest of London is has artisan Mexican food rather than, you know, normal tacos, taquitos, enchiladas, burritos, the good stuff we all love about Mexican food. The restaurant they bring their dog to is also real, it's called the Gaucho in Hampstead, which has doggie Sundays so people can bring their dogs. I'm on a posting spree because I love you and it's Valentine's Day so I'm posting up through Chapter 28 so we can end the week halfway through.


	27. "The Way I Are" by Bebe Rexha ft. Lil Wayne

To: adelaide.johanna@dissidentmanagent.com; sawyer.ashton@dissidentmangement.com; george.daniel@dissidentmanagement.com; rosemaryireland@sterlingandireland.co.uk

From: haroldbsterling@sterlingandireland.co.uk

Subject: RE: RE: Cris’s Coming Out

Just to prepare everyone, we’re going to have to monitor this all night. Coming out as pansexual is going to lead to a full night of speculation. I doubt anything spectacular is going to come out after tonight, so we monitor Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, and Tumblr tonight to get a handle on the situation, and we’ll go from there. I have a pretty good idea of what’s going to happen, but let’s be vigilant anyway to stay on top of any surprises.

Best,

Harry Benton-Sterling

 

**Text message from Theodore**

**Theodore:** This is going to be all night with you, huh?

**Harry:** At least there’s pizza.

**Harry:** U going out with Ali?

**Theodore:** Alina and I are hitting a bar with Yasmin, Mizra, and Javed who swear this is unrelated to her music career. Rory and Washington will come. And the dog.

**Harry:** The dog? You gonna pull the rockstar card?

**Theodore:** Fucking yes.

**Theodore:** Have you thought about it?

**Harry:** I know a decent contractor.

**Theodore:** You mean a contractor willing to sign an NDA?

**Harry:** I mean I’m not gonna lie…

 

**YouTube Channel, Real Talk Daily: Cris Emerson and Maverick**

**Aidan:** I mean are we going to sit here and act surprised Cris Emerson is not straight? I know we all got crazy about not speculating and he had all these girlfriends and it’s homophobic to assume someone’s sexuality, but come on, Cris Emerson was not exactly the picture of a straight male.

**Mckinley:** I mean yeah I’m not terribly surprised, and I’ll stand here and admit that I don’t think he’s dating Irial Dorian’s female friend. I think he is dating Irial, and now that he’s admitted he is pansexual, I definitely think that I am fully on this ship. In other news, Maverick released the first single off his EP and the lyric video, and fans think he’s shading Chesapeake Maro.

**Aidan:** He’s definitely shading Chesapeake Maro. He went to her level and made it very clear: this is a song about you.

**Mckinley:** I guess…it’s hard not to agree? But what’s crazier is that in the song, ‘You Knew’, he basically admits the whole relationship was a PR stunt. A line from the song says “You know what this was from the start. Us in the light, me with her in the dark. You knew all you had to do was play your part. Don’t sit here and act like I shattered your heart.”

**Aidan:** So you think he and Alina are dating?

**Mckinley:** No, I don’t but his song makes it clear that her pride was hurt by speculation he was cheating with Alina. I mean this song is about a messy private life. There’s stunts and backstabbing and betrayal and friendship and lovers and whatever. It’s such a cool song. I’m so excited to see the music video. And kind of excited to see Chesapeake’s response to it.

 

**Text message to Salem**

**Harry:** You want to come see me at the house for a while?

**Salem:** Will you provide me with food and beverage?

**Harry:** Do you require it?

**Salem:** Yes

**Harry:** Then yes. U should probs bring your laptop

**Salem:**???????

 

**Maverick (@MaverickOfficial)**

Ngl #split #croatia is so beautiful. Totally my next vacay spot…or Alaska

* * *

Harry stood in the empty living room, hands on his hips, and eyes narrowed on the floor plan the contractor had brought over. Anatoly had done most of the renovations for the pub throughout Harry’s lifetime and was both trustworthy and fair. If he left finding a contractor up to Theodore the pair of them would have been living in an unfinished money pit for the next three years. When Theodore had decided he wanted to make the house his own, Harry hadn’t protested. Had leapt at the chance actually.

He’d given up his lease because he loved Theodore in spite of all his massive flaws, but Harry had not been certain he could live with the house’s antiquated flow pattern _and_ Theodore’s drug addiction. The three ensuite bedrooms in the upper two floors were nice sized, but the ground and lower level were a waste of space with 70s style cabinetry in the kitchen, absolutely no shape in the living room, and an entire wasted lower level dedicated to being an in-law suite that they never used. Even Alina had chosen to cocoon herself in the upstairs guest bedroom rather than be banished to what constituted as a basement.

Anatoly’s dirty blonde hair was messy and peppered with gray, his round face obscured behind a beard and moustache. He looked over the floor plans spread out across the table, scratching his chin as Harry took the pictures off the wall that were a mix of family, friends, Attila, and he and Theodore together. The man crooked an eyebrow and pointed at the photograph with amusement.

“So… _that’s_ why the NDA, eh?” Anatoly asked, gesturing to the photograph of Theodore and Harry in New Orleans, kissing.

“That among other things,” Ali—Alina—said from the kitchen.

Anatoly looked up and blinked in surprise at the popstar standing there munching on a Magnum ice cream bar, hair twisted up in a high ponytail, makeup pristine, and skin-tight leather skinny jeans and an oversized Navy sweatshirt. Attila sat at her feet, licking his chops and scooting closer. His mouth dropped open in surprise while Alina smiled and waved her fingers at him.

She smacked her hand against the doorframe. “You’re getting rid of this monstrosity right? I didn’t realize how much I liked open floor plans until I saw this house.”

“Then move out,” Harry said, pointing a finger at her. “You don’t live here.”

Alina scoffed.

“This wall is load-bearing so it can’t just come down,” Anatoly stated for both of them. They turned him, face slack. He shrugged and said, “I can put columns in to open up the space but as far as it goes, something has to be there to hold up the house.”

“Columns it is,” Harry said, crossing his arms and pursing his lips. “Theodore hates that wall. _I_ hate that wall. I also hate this wall.” Harry said putting a hand on the wall dividing the living room from the hallway.

“I can just tear that one down,” Anatoly said plainly.

“Do it!” Alina called happily, cackling when Harry pinned her with a glare. She stuck out her tongue. “Be nice to me. Teddy’s over my cry sessions in studio. He’s been telling me to channel the pain. This is the only happy fun times I have. Here in this house or stealing your dog for jogs in the morning. And damn he can go. A pap tried to take a picture of me yesterday until your dog scared the shit out of him.”

“Okay,” Harry cut her off smoothly, rolling his eyes. “I have to finish this today because it’s very likely that tomorrow the world is going to implode.”

“You live a weird life,” Alina told him with a scowl, plucking a coat of hard chocolate off the vanilla ice cream with her teeth.

Laughing at the pair of them, Anatoly nodded and pointed in the direction Alina was standing. “What are we doing about the kitchen?”

“I believe Theodore’s words were ‘burn it.’ So it’s horribly outdated. He wants stainless steel appliances, marble counter tops, and would rather have a kitchen island than the peninsula that’s in there. I want a pantry, however we can work that. We can do hardwood floors throughout. No need to like try and mark out the kitchen with tile.”

Anatoly frowned and nodded, plucking the pencil from behind his ear, writing and sketching over the plans. “Updating all the bathrooms upstairs, I was told in the email?”

Harry nodded and put his hands on his hips examining the blueprint of the house. “I’m sure Teddy sent you a gazillion emails about those black and white mosaic tiles, subway tiles, whatever else.”

“Vessel sinks,” Anatoly said with a laugh. “I got a lot of emails about vessel sinks and kitchen backsplash. I’ve pretty much got a handle on exactly what your boyfriend wants in the kitchen and bathroom. Which, did you see the lime green glass backsplash tiles? He CC’d you into that email didn’t he?”

Alina choked, gaping between them while Harry nodded tiredly. The seafoam glass backsplash would be happening. Of course it would be happening, because Theodore had mentioned it with puppy dog eyes, sprawled on the floor of their room with Attila tucked up against him and whining anxiously as Theodore came down from his high. Harry was an absolute sucker. Of course, Alina had sense enough that the very thought of the backsplash had her flipping out.

“What? No. You’re not going to let him are you?”

Harry ignored her entirely because he really couldn’t bring himself to admit how weak-willed he was when Theodore wanted something. He felt like his father sometimes, saying no just because Theodore needed to be reminded that he couldn’t have everything he wanted. His studio, his management, his publicist all bowed to him whims knowing that whatever his personal looked like Theodore played the game well and enjoyed it even. It was bad enough that Harry had thrown out rationale and better judgment to move in with Theodore and adopt a pet with him when he was actively a junkie trying not at all to reform.

Josie Keene had called him several times to talk about Theodore, concluding that he was an addict—cocaine or no cocaine—which Harry agreed with. She recommended no drug, no drinking, not even smoking even from him. Harry didn’t love alcohol enough to fight that, but if Theodore wasn’t going to try to quit cocaine, Harry wasn’t going to live dry. He couldn’t be the only one drying when he wasn’t even the one with the problem.

A knock on the door abruptly ended conversation.

Harry looked directly at Alina, crooking an eyebrow, and she didn’t even argue, only sighed and trudged across the living room to open the door. With an excited shout, Alina led Salem into the living room, his computer bag slung over his shoulder, electric blue hair tied up in a fluffy ponytail, and one of his weird Bluetooth ear cuff headsets glowing faintly. Salem was a walking treasure trove for technological advancement. His own company was at least ten years behind the tech he had squirreled away and half-finished on Bailey’s dining room table.

Salem raised his eyebrows, looking for a moment at Anatoly before grinning at Harry.

“Are you slicing up the house? Think I should do that to Bailey’s?”

“Do you have a problem with Bailey’s house?” Harry asked offhandedly.

“No,” Salem admitted, scowling. “Just as punishment for his bullshit coercing me to live with him.”

Alina narrowed her eyes at him, crossing her arms over her chest and stating plainly, “But you _want_ to live with Bailey.”

“Not the point,” Salem dismissed absently, stepping up to the blueprints and leaning over Anatoly’s shoulder. The contractor edged away uncomfortably, and like it had been an invitation to completely take over. He leaned over the Blueprint with a speculative gleam in his eye. “This is gonna be fun, isn’t it? Why am _I_ here? Tell me I get to build something crazy,” Salem gushed excitedly.

Harry nodded while Alina’s brows furrowed questioningly.

Without talking, Harry guided them out of the main house and into the fenced in garden out front, Attila frolicking happily outside. They walked down the stairs to the small patio with a bench parked outside the entryway to the in-law suite beneath the house. He opened the door and choked on the dust swirling through the air. The entire space was unfurnished and smelled like no one had been inside or cleaned in years.

Salem edged around Harry walking into the space and gazing around thoughtfully. When he turned, a smile began to spread across his lips. “Tell me it’s what I think.”

Ignoring Salem, Harry turned to Anatoly and gestured sharply to his practically dancing friend. Attila rolled across the empty floor happily. “I brought Salem because he’s this like tech mad genius. This is almost a thousand square feet of completely wasted space. The kitchen needs updating but that can stay, although we should probably add like a mini fridge or something. And I guess one of the bathrooms can stay, but there’s this huge reception room, two bedrooms, and two bathrooms that doesn’t even connect to the main house. It’s not like we can rent it out. I want you to turn it into a studio for Theodore, Salem.” Harry finally admitted while Salem grinned and nodded, eyes skirting the room.

“I’m so down,” Salem said excitedly. “I’ll have to do some research, but the windows should probably go. We’re need a mixing booth, a sound booth, the equipment which I cannot allow to just be generic. I’ll have to talk with some guys I know about sound engineering. I’ll call Carter about that mixing board he has. Oh my God I’m so excited. Best friend ever.”

Alina cocked her head and examined him, “You’re a little touched in the head, huh?”

Anatoly nodded, looking around. “I’ve never made a recording studio.”

“Me either!” Salem said delightedly, “What a cool experience? It’s like Christmas came early. I can picture it.”

Harry nodded, overwhelmed before his brain caught up with him. Shaking his head, he frowned and clarified, “Carter _Skeet_?”

Salem grimaced before waving a hand dismissively, “Don’t tell Bailey.”

* * *

 

“I’m so tired!” Theodore declared with a laugh while the crew chuckled beneath their breath, shaking their head. He sat cross-legged on the steps inside the heart of Diocletian’s Palace across from the coffee shop that had been providing a variety of food and beverages since filming had begun hours ago. “Listen, looking incredible is extremely tiring. We can’t all be camera and sound and lighting people, you know? I don’t have the mental capacity for that kind of specialization, you know? I’m just a singer,” he teased with a grin.

One of the cameramen scoffed while the rest laughed. “Just a singer? Says the man who rewrote a song for a guy busking to make the chords fit his vocal range. And then _busked_ with him and had some amateur videographer teen from a cruise ship make a YouTube video of it.”

Theodore frowned like he was confused. “Are we talking about? I am a vain diva. I’m not that kind of person. I did buy myself a cravat because the lady at the shop was talking to me about how Croatia invented them because women used to tie them around their lovers necks before they went off to war as a reminder of their loved ones. And the king of France liked it so much that he made it a part of French dress. How cool is that?”

The lighting guys exchanged twin looks of amusement.

“And how much did that cravat cost?” The girl from wardrobe called out, bemused.

His smile widened playfully, “A lot, but don’t worry, I got everybody on set one as a gift. So love and remember me always!”

“Not a problem,” a production assistant stated with amusement.

Theodore gave him a thumbs-up. “That’s good, cause I’m a sensitive soul. I don’t like being rejected.”

“Do you get rejected often?” Asked one guy.

Pursing his lips, Theodore pretended to consider this question before shrugging with an impish smile. “I mean, it’s all relative isn’t it? And it makes me sad to talk about.”

The crew laughed while Theodore grinned.

A moment later, laughter died when the director returned and stared through the camera with a long-suffering sigh.

“Are we done? Dinner?” Theodore asked brightly, glancing up at the swiftly setting sun.

The director shook his head with a look of sheer annoyance on his face. Kamil was a Czech director who’d quickly been gaining a reputation for dynamic and moving music videos. Theodore’s studio hadn’t been thrilled by entrusting his highly anticipated song to a still relatively obscured European music video director. Theodore still trusted Kamil’s vision, but Kamil had obviously lost patience in the skill of his casting director who’d made the supreme mistake of hiring the supermodel, Reva Benoit, who was almost more famous for her antics than for her modeling. The other was a relatively unknown upcoming model barely eighteen from Agadir, Morocco named Habiba who stood off to the side spooning gelato from a cup and watching Reva with a faintly disgusted expression that Theodore could definitely relate to.

“We are definitely not done,” Kamil snapped shortly, turning his glare on the slinky model strutting through the crowd of crew to cross her arms over her chest and glare at him. “Are you going to do this properly or am I going to have to replace you?”

“I don’t see what the problem is,” Reva challenged.

Theodore rolled his eyes and let his head fall backwards.

“Reva,” the casting director started in an uncertain tone, uncertain how to deal with her obvious attitude problem.

“What? What am I doing wrong?”

Having had enough of the conversation, Theodore stood up and stalked down the stairs, across the sleek limestone floor. The crew’s eyes followed him with alarm as he grabbed Reva by the arm, yanking her towards him. He cupped her face with one hand and pressed a long, hard kiss to her lips that he held until she relaxed against him, releasing her then with a pointed smirk.

“That. That’s what we have to do. That’s it. I’ve read enough about you to know two things: you’ve been kissed before and you’ve faked being in love before.” The dreamy look on her face died swiftly while the crew whistled and stifled sniggers, her face purpling with rage. “Now, can we get this done so we can all go eat? Hunger isn’t good at improving already bad moods. You ought to know.”

“You’re an asshole,” Reva hissed.

Theodore nodded and turned to Kamil. “She’s ready.”

Reva’s anger did in fact prove the missing ingredient to expediting a process that had taken them hours. After a harsh kiss and a rehearsed but nonetheless vicious slap across his face, Kamil called cut with a relief that was palpable. He shot his casting director a venomous look that he followed up by giving Reva.

They headed to Augubio Congo, a restaurant that Harry and Rosie had both recommended less than a five-minute walk from the peristyle and the hotel both. The indoor/outdoor seating had everyone splitting into groups to talk with their friends. Theodore ended up wedged between Habiba and Rory with Washington, Preston, and Kamil sitting opposite them. They ended up with a table-wide cheese and him plate with more dishes being ordered that included truffles than Theodore had encountered in his whole life.

Habiba and Theodore were engaged in a discussion about Hollywood’s broad interpretation of already interesting historical events—namely the Tut mini series, every movie ever made about Cleopatra, and _The Tudors_ —when Preston interrupted after getting off the phone.

Lips pursed, his eyes moved between Habiba and Theodore obviously enough that they both focused on him.

“I didn’t realize you were an actress,” Preston said to her.

Habiba raised her eyebrows. “Yes, modeling is what I do to make money. Acting is my passion,” she answered succinctly. “I just got cast in a movie I’m hoping will be my break.”

Preston nodded, gaze sliding to Theodore, “Yes, do you remember that movie I told you about that starts filming early January? _The Woman Who Would Be King_ about the Egyptian female pharaoh, Hatshepsut?” Preston hedged carefully while Habiba’s eyebrows rose in interest.

“I remember,” Theodore offered without providing any more information.

“The lead they cast for Thutmose III, Azan Bakkal, had to drop out due to a scheduling conflict with the TV show he works on. The casting director wants to know if you’d be interested.”

Theodore considered this for a moment. At the very least, the title had come from a book as far as he knew, though was probably only loosely adapted and focused largely on her years ruling with some touches on her life before when married to Thutmose II. He’d been interested in the script when it had been mentioned, but playing the role of an African character was always a gamble. People got touchy about cultural appropriation. There wasn’t a historical movie made in recent memory that didn’t have someone boycotting while Theodore was alternately amazed that that people protested white people in Egypt but not a free, well-respected black man in eighteenth century France.

“Who’s in it? Because I’m not going to be apart of something that gets boycotted by the NAACP because a white person was an extra one time.”

Habiba laughed.

“Imani Samir’s playing Hatshepsut. Amir Dodson is playing Thutmose II. Habiba’s playing Hatshepsut’s daughter and Thutmose III’s rumored sister-wife, Neferure. And I think Meryem Erakat is playing Thutmose III’s primary wife, Satiah.” Preston relayed to him while Theodore considered this.

“Will I have to dye my hair black?” Theodore asked with a pout.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Augubio Congo is a real restaurant that I (think?) I've eaten at before in Split, Croatia. I'm not sure. I forgot the name of the restaurant I ate at with excellent truffle pasta. But the food was damn good. If you ever go to Croatia definitely go to the Diocletian Palace, it's a marketplace literally in the ruins of a Roman palace. So cool.


	28. "Something's Gotta Give" by Camila Cabello

**Maverick seen liplocking with Reva Benoit—but don’t freak out!**

While Maverick blew all the minds in the world by dropping his single, ‘You Knew’ and also announcing he’d accepted the role playing Thutmose III in _The Woman Who Would Be King_ , he also made front page news kissing Reva Benoit. But according to sources it wasn’t a romantic kiss. News from on set of the music video say Reva was “difficult to work with” and “a real diva” and that the kiss was an attempt to shock her into behaving. It apparently worked and made the tension in the video electric. But if you’re holding out any hopes for him and Reva, or even him and his other MV costar, Habiba Benali, who will also be playing his love interest, Nerferure, in the upcoming film, don’t. Maverick basically confirmed rumors that his relationship with Chesapeake was a PR stunt when he was asked about the longtime girlfriend he wrote his last album about and said, “Yes we’re still together, which is absolutely amazing. The EP is also about that relationship. About the arguments and the struggles and the growing pains.” Which is, coincidentally, what the EP will be called.

 

To: crossesoflead@gmail.co.uk; wildechild@gmail.co.uk

From: sterling.harry@dissidentmanagement.com

Subject: URGENT

As both of you were too intoxicated to be any help last night, let me recap if you haven't seen yet: last night Beatrice Learner released a Keek video of you two drunken morons snogging at the party. Irial's REALLY blurry, his beanie completely hid his hair and his costume covered all his tattoos, so he can't be identified, but Cris is crystal clear. You need to let me know immediately what you want to do about this. Shoot me an email whenever you read this, and I'll start organizing since I flew back yesterday. I've included a list of possible solutions, but we need to move on this before it snowballs.

Best,

Harry Benton-Sterling

Dissident Management

 

**RT by @Cris_Emerson @DorianII**

**Maverick (@MaverickOfficial)**

Regardless of how you feel personally outing someone is absolutely in excuseable. It’s 2018 whether it’s other celebs, fans, or the media, you should be ashamed of yourself.

 

**Lizzzzzz (@learnedlizzy)**

I am so here for @MaverickOfficial calling out @letitbea #roasther

 

To: haroldbsterling@sterlingandireland.com

From: theghostsofsalem@gmail.com

Subject: Dido Lynn Darby

I found something kind of major that Theodore’s probably going to need to see right away. Bailey and I are going to meet you him and whoever else is going at Club Deccord (Chaz says you’re with him? And bringing him?) so I will see you there with all of that in tow.

Salem

* * *

“It’s like this,” Alina started drunkenly, half lying across the club’s bar counter. She pointed a finger in Theodore’s general direction but ended up with her nail touching Marley’s nose. Smiling uncertainly, Marley pushed her hand until it pointed at Theodore who sipped his beer with a vacant expression on his face, completely uninterested in whatever this was. “He called me again. And it fucked up my song right? I was supposed to be angry but now I’m just sad you know? Really sad. I want to go home, but I evicted myself.”

Marley nodded safely in understanding, patting Alina’s back sympathetically. “Maybe next time kick out the cheating bastard instead.”

“Harry’s gonna be mad at me,” Alina stated sadly, snagging her beer and pulling it closer to her. She wrapped her arms around the bottle, front teeth hooking over the lip of the glass. Marley’s eyes went wide, head turning towards Theodore whose eyes narrowed on her coldly. He loved his best friend but he’d only just gotten his boyfriend back after the Cris and Irial mess. He was not about to give him to Alina.

“What did you do?” Theodore asked stonily.

Alina’s cheeks colored as she looked away timidly. So something really bad then. Not that Theodore hadn’t expected this kind of behavior eventually. Not only had Shahnaz broken her heart, her trust, and at least a little bit of her sanity since his insistence it had only happened once turned into learning Daisy thought they had been genuinely dating for months while Shah had been promising Alina nothing was going on. That had prompted rounds of tears where Alina had sprawled across Theodore and Harry’s bed cuddled up to the dog and lamenting that she had been the other woman. Then Shah would call her begging for her to hear him out, and there would be anger that eventually begot more tears.

Harry has looked at him two nights earlier between tracking social media about opinions on if Azadi was breaking up and critical reactions to Cris’s full and complete coming out. Without preamble or prodding, Harry had said, “She’s going to lose it in a blaze of glory. I’m waiting. I just hope she knows to call me.”

Looking at her now, Theodore figured worse than losing her shit on Shahnaz, she hadn’t told Harry what she’d done. He absolutely was going to kill her. Harry thought of scandals like rabies, there was a timeline with which to get your vaccination after that you’re fucked and all there is left is damage control. He was not a fan of damage control in the slightest.

“I was the house getting my stuff, you know? And my cat—”

“Your what?” Theodore demanded in disbelief. He had nothing against cats but no one had told him one was coming and with their house in shambles from reno, he couldn’t imagine it was the best environment anyway.

“Harry said it was fine,” Alina said weakly before her expression became fierce. “That asshole does not get to keep my cat to play house with. Bitch ass, whore ass, motherfucker.” Marley whistled before taking a sip of her Mai Tai, keeping her face carefully blank. “And I was standing there looking at all our pictures and the blanket my grandmother made him and that fucking jacket I bought him last Christmas…”

Sensing where this was going, Marley tensed already recognizing from one too many bad breakups exactly where this was going. Theodore got it despite his relatively limited experience with long term dating that led to psychotic rage during breakups. Even at their worst Harry and Theodore hadn’t done the kind of dating that required breakups and makeups. It had been a casual fling at least objectively until suddenly it was anymore. Shah and Ali hadn’t been the type to breakup either, but that wasn’t particularly something Theodore wanted to contemplate considering the results.

“Shah destroyed us. And I needed him to feel that,” Alina said, tone hardening into a fierce snarl. Shrugging with disinterest, Alina continued, “I set every piece of clothing, every shoe, every accessory, and even his car on fire. I parked it in the driveway and watched it burn. The cops weren’t happy with me. Neither was the fire department but it was cathartic watching my whole relationship burn away. I felt a lot better.”

“Yeah?” Theodore asked uncertainly whole Marley blinked at her, eyes wide and disbelief on her face.

“Oh yeah. And he had to come bail me out since he’s still my emergency contact. So he sits there in the police station yelling at me about disrespect and destruction of personal property and why shouldn’t he press charges. It all just clicked, and I sat there in front of the police and just calmly explained someone who drove me to that by cheating for months and lying about it had no right to talk about disrespect and destructive behavior. He didn’t press charges.”

“No shit,” Marley remarked shaking her head and tossing back a vodka shot. “That’s so savage. What else would he do?”

Alina pressed her lips together and nodded sagely. She tipped back her head and tilted the liquid down her throat with a long sigh. Wiping her mouth with a napkin, she rested her cheek on the curve of her arm. “I think I want to go back home. To the US. I stayed here for Shah and Yasmin and Mizra and Javed but I don’t have to be anymore and I don’t want to be, you know? Do you think Harry can help me internationally? Because I need him but I have to leave London.”

“Depends,” Harry commented startling the three of them from their conversation. Alina groaned and sunk lower in her seat peering up at her over his arm. “Are you actually going to call me next time you’re in trouble? The police captain knows me. My stepfather worked with him that’s the only reason this didn’t make the news.”

Alina grimaced, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. I don’t care if you burnt Shah’s clothes, his car, or his house. I care if I don’t know about it and suddenly have to try and divine an excuse about something I am unaware of. You have to get ahead of problems not let them run away from you, got me?”

Slowly, Alina nodded with a grateful smile while Salem made his way over with a glass of Guinness and Bailey following close behind.

Salem, it seemed, was the only one who had bothered to care that it was technically Halloween. With shocking jet black hair, a dearth of piercings, suspenders, Salem had come dressed like a stereotypical nerd with a plaid shirt and geeky glass taped in the middle. Bailey looked like he’d rolled out of bed and put an AU version of his own clothes: ripped jeans, sneakers, and a long sleeved Alexander McQueen t-shirt beneath a leather jacket.

“You two look as boring as Bailey,” Salem pointed out with a scowl while Bailey stole a sip of his boyfriend’s drink. “What did you come as?”

Theodore blinked at him and smirked, tugging the Burberry coat tighter around him. “Bailey.”

In horror, Salem turned to Bailey who grinned, “I came as you.”

“Save me,” Salem pleased beneath his breath and turning to Harry who had on a Benton’s Pub tee and jeans. Eyeing him critically, Salem demanded, “And what are you?”

Harry shrugged with a tiny smile. “A bartender.”

“A bartender? You came for Halloween as a bartender?”

“I was a bartender.” Harry pointed out.

“That’s kind of my point,” Salem said with disappointment. “Where is your All Hallow’s Eve spirit?”

Harry crooked an eyebrow, “Should we talk about Samhain? Which started its life as a harvest festival until it adapted to become a practice for warding off evil spirits with scary costumes and masks. I appreciate the sentiment behind Samhain I absolutely do not understand the adult British obsession with dressing up in slutty and scary costumes to go to the same clubs we go to every weekend except with fog machines and ghoulish makeup.”

Salem stared at him for a minute, retrieving his glass from Bailey to take a long swallow. He nodded and said, “God you’re a buzzkill.”

“Right?” Marley exploded pressing a kiss to Harry’s cheek. “You’re so sweet, Harry boo. But damn yes you are a buzzkill. Should we do something? Besides clubbing? I feel so damn old but I want to do something other than drinking and partying, you know? Another day, another club.”

Harry and Salem exchanges twin looks of confusion. Salem smiled uncomfortably and asked, “How exactly are your days structured. I run a multinational corporation.”

“I don’t party,” Bailey informed her.

Marley curled up her lip at them. “Well, well then I guess it’s just me.”

Theodore hid his smile behind his hand while Alina shook her head to hide amusement. Both Theodore and Alina could relate well enough to Marley’s never ending parade of parties, but it had been some time since Theodore learned party networking was little more than drunken hookups and a place to claim they’d met someone more famous than them. Theodore still made the rounds, still schmoozed, but with the popularity of breaking out cocaine and marijuana at those parties, he knew better than to commit to them full time. Alina had given them up somewhere around the time Shah had started bringing Daisy to them—before she found out about their affair.

Harry stood close enough to Theodore that he could feel the heat coming off his body but far enough that no one would find their proximity odd. Theodore hooked his pinky through the bracelet around Harry’s wrist, looking up at his face and the sliver of amusement that crossed his face before shuttering again. Theodore hummed to himself, smile crossing his face and pretending to ignore Bailey as he snagged Theodore’s beer and helped himself. It wasn’t a huge deal, and Bailey was such a lightweight that these stolen sips were the only thing anyone would allow him to avoid him embarrassing himself.

“Chessington!” This pronouncement came from Patrick Gallagher where he returned from the dance floor, chest heaving and an arm thrown around Charlie Beck’s shoulders. They both grinned at each other in their Thor and Loki costumes.

Harry had brought them from the meeting they’d attended together regarding Charlie’s publicity team. Theodore didn’t need to ask what had happened, the relief in Patrick and Charlie spoke to the strain on Harry. He loved his job, but Harry had a habit of pushing things too far. His foundling PR firm with Rosie, Brandon Greer, and Sully had already bitten off more than Harry thought he could chew. Theodore knew better. He wouldn’t have taken on Breaking Fourth, The Daiki Company, Charlie Beck, Arthur Bailey, Alina, and every calamity that came crawling to his door. Though Theodore hadn’t hired him, he put so much work in that he may as well be paid.

“We should go to Chessington World of Adventures. It’s only half an hour away, and they do Halloween events. No electropop or dancing or overpriced liquor.”

“I’m pretty sure there’s still overpriced liquor,” Charlie remarked offhandedly, side-eyeing Patrick contemplatively.

“I’m all about this! Let’s go!” Marley clapped her hands together excitedly and hopping up off the stool.

Salem met Harry’s eyes pointedly tipping head, and Theodore’s brows furrowed in confusion at the look. Harry’s expression slackened. His eyes slid to Theodore who crossed his arms and slanted him an inquisitive look that had Harry shaking his head slightly. He pressed his lips together and gazed guiltily between Theodore and Salem, dragging in a long, deep inhale before turning to Theodore.

He raised his eyebrows, waiting for whatever he was uncertain of saying.

“We should get last rounds,” Harry said, pointing at Alina and Marley who raised their eyebrows and pretended they had no idea why he’d call them out like that. “And then,” he let out a long-suffering sigh, “well _before_ that I need to talk to you. _We_ need to talk to you. Alone.”

The hesitancy in his words made Theodore uncomfortable. It made everyone else uncomfortable too. Mumbling about needing to use the bathroom, Charlie split with Alina close behind. Patrick settled at the bar with Marley, neither of them looking in his direction. Bailey obviously knew what this was about, gazing hard and stern at Salem without saying a word; he leaned against the bar and tapped his blunt fingernails on the surface of Theodore’s lukewarm beer.

Mirroring that same reluctance, Theodore nodded his head and downed the last of his beer, grimacing at the taste. He set the empty bottle down on the bar and stowed away the jittery uncertainty deep within him, offering a curt head nod. Harry tried to force a smile that appeared more like a grimace. Eyes narrowed, Bailey shook his head pointedly until Harry sighed and reached out to hold Theodore’s hand, squeezing it in a genuine gesture of reassurance. It alleviated some of the tension but certainly not all.

Salem’s eyes moved between Harry and Theodore, landing on the former with a question in his eyes.

Harry shook his head shortly and tugged Theodore along the walls of the club until they slipped into the stairwell leading to the upper levels and the bathroom. The dimly lit stairwell was clouded with cannabis smoke and echoing the bass beats from the club’s music. Leading him into an alcove both shadowed and relatively insulated from the noise, Harry turned to look at him, face full of that familiar uncertainty that made Theodore want to runaway.

“Do you remember when you asked me to look into Dido Lynn Darby?” was not what Theodore expected Harry to say with a look like that on his face.

Eyebrows furrowing, Theodore puzzled out what Dido Lynn Darby made Harry look so cautious in broaching the subject.

Slowly, Theodore nodded, “Yeah that was over a year ago. I just figured that you couldn’t find anything on her.”

“I couldn’t. I looked into it myself, Dissident’s files, even contacts that are in her management company and recording studio. There was nothing, so I asked Salem to look into it for me a few months ago when none of my leads panned out.” Theodore nodded again, uncertain where this was going that made Harry so wary. “Salem couldn’t find anything either. On her.”

Theodore started to nod before pausing. “On her?”

Harry met Theodore’s eyes with an aching discomfort that Theodore could feel in himself. “On her,” he repeated pointedly, “so Salem looked into you to see if he could find a connection. It took awhile because your records are sealed, but they’re not gone.”

Hesitating for a moment, Theodore’s fingers tapped anxiously against his thigh. He wet his lips nervously. “Um…okay…so you found her?”

“I don’t…” Harry trailed off, running a hand through his hair. After a moment, Harry forced himself to admit, “I had a theory from the moment I discussed this with Salem. I needed proof because it was absurd and crazy. I don’t know what it says, but Salem gave it to me when he and Bailey got here. He found it in your file and said you’d want to see it right away.”

He reached into his jacket pocket, pulling a manila envelope from his pocket folded over multiple items until it had been small enough to fit. Theodore balled his hands into fists wanting to rip the document from Harry’s hands, but he’d waited twenty-one years, he could wait until Harry offered it.

In the end, Theodore accepted it gingerly, like he was scared to hold it.

Unfolding it slowly, Theodore opened the flap of the envelope and reached inside with shaking hands to grasp the slip of paper inside with his thumb and forefinger. Carefully, Theodore slid the sheet out of the envelope and blinked at the document with absolute shock. Even after being famous, the UK government refused to release this single piece of paper to him. It was sealed they said, even to him. That being the child whose past was hidden here was irrelevant in the face of the law.

Hands shaking and tears welling in his eyes, Theodore ran his fingers over the words printed on the paper that Salem had doubtlessly stolen from the files of the UK Home Office. His tongue wet his lips again, mouth dry and throat closed up. His heart beat furiously as his eyes darted up to meet Harry’s who smiled uncertainly, wringing his hands together with anxiety that Theodore didn’t understand until he actually saw the information printed on the paper.

At the top was the name he’d never once used: ‘Theodore Dean Adelaide’ born at a hospital in Westminster. And there at the bottom were the names that he was likely never meant to say. Underneath ‘father’ was clearly printed ‘Franklin Elias Adelaide, occupation: Professor and just below that was ‘mother: Dido Lynn Darby, occupation: singer.’ In black and white script that changed Theodore’s whole life.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I lied. Happy Valentine's Day. I'm posting up through chapter 30 today because I prefer where Chapter 32 leaves you over the weekend. I'm evil, just a little bit.


	29. "River" Eminem ft. Ed Sheeran

**Alina Rosen dating Arsenal’s star forward?**

After meeting in August at the opening of the Daiki Company’s flagship store in London, popstar Alina Rosen of pop band, Azadi, and Arsenal forward, Arthur Bailey, haven’t stopped talking. A source close to the popstar said, “Alina really likes Arthur. She thinks he’s a gentleman, and they have a lot in common. They’ve been talking for the last four months on and off and are both just really enjoying the casual banter they have going on.” Bailey is in the middle of his fifth season with Arsenal and dealing with his mother’s terminal pancreatic cancer. Azadi is set to release their third studio album December 15th.

 

**Alina Rosen (@AlinaAzadi)**

@ArthurBailey what? Is this about Halloween? Because this is not a thing!

 

**Text message from Salem**

**Salem:** How is he taking it?

**Harry:** He’s working.

**Harry:** All the time.

**Harry:** Nonstop.

**Salem:** Oh.

**Harry:** And doing at least double the drinking.

**Salem:** Well fuck. I thought this would help

**Harry:** It wont until he talks to them.

**Harry:** Then he’ll sink into depression and shit will get worse.

 

**Text message to Harry**

**Charlie:** He says he can’t lose his mother.

**Charlie:** He doesn’t want to come out.

**Charlie:** I can’t live like that.

**Harry:** Relax you can’t come out till the show ends anyway.

**Harry:** A lot will probably change by then.

 

To: theghostsofsalem@gmail.com

From: haroldbsterling@sterlingandireland.com

Subject: I need a favor

I have another hunch and need another favor. See if you can find Franklin Adelaide? Check professorships in London or Johanna Adelaide.

Thanks,

Harry

 

**iHeartRadio Interview**

**Jake:** You just released your EP, Growing Pains, to huge commercial success. Does it surprise you? It’s been eight years since the last EP reached number one on the Billboard Album Chart.

**Maverick:** Of course it’s a surprise! The last ones were Jay-Z’s ‘Collision Course’ and a couple EPs from _Glee_. I am not Jay-Z! But I am pleasantly surprised by the outcome. It was a definite risk releasing an EP.

**Jake:** So why release one? It’s a more mature vibe than the heady honeymoon music on ‘Away for the Weekend’ but it’s definitely something we all want more of. It’s six very relatable songs.

**Maverick:** Six?

**Jake:** Okay, five. I’ve never shaded my ex-PR stunt via song before, but I mean ‘Kiss Me, Kill Me’, ‘Domesticated’, ‘Hourglass’…let’s just throw in ‘Knife in the Back’ and ‘Growing Pains’ it’s all things people relate to. You could have made a whole album of this. Not gonna lie, I kind of want you to.

**Maverick:** I could have, yeah, I have enough material written. But…I think I have this album I’m not ready to write that I can’t get over. Until that gets out I can’t quite commit to anything else. It’s driving my studio crazy.

**Jake:** It’s driving me crazy! But at least we have your collaborations! One of which you’ll be performing at the AMAs.

**Maverick:** I’ll be performing ‘Perfect Storm’ with Alina Rosen, which we co-wrote and just released.

**Jake:** Any truth to the rumor that she’s going solo?

**Maverick:** Why would I know that?

* * *

The Adelaides lived out in Harrow Weald in a traditional brick home, a chunk of the upstairs was painted white and striped with black. Two cars sat in the driveway, one a Mini Cooper and one a Peugeot SUV. Kids bicycles rested against the wall of the house beneath a window. An overturned skateboard was half tucked away beneath the bushes along with a selection of Barbie dolls, deflated soccer balls, and a mangy orange tabby cat that glared from where it lay low in the dirt, watching him with a low growl building in is chest.

Harry rested his forearms on the roof of the car and squinted at the house, hood of his jacket pulled over his hair to protect from the soft but pervasive rain. He could hear children shouting from the backyard, giggling happily and setting his teeth on edge. A dog barked loudly and a woman that Harry assumed was Franklin Adelaide’s wife called out to the kids before shrieking and laughing.

Everything about the house seemed perfectly ordinary. An unremarkable English home high in Harrow Weald.

From the outside the home was large and probably expensive, not so much as it would be in Central London, but even in the periphery of the city a house this size sold for upwards of £800,000. More than enough that Franklin Adelaide had managed to put his first child through three years at King’s College without taking out a government loan—some of which Johanna once told him likely came from a combination of her mother’s inheritance and life insurance policy—and enough that he’d married again and supported two more kids.

Salem’s deep-dive into the history of Franklin Adelaide had returned far more information that his search into Dido Lynn Darby.

Franklin was a biracial child both of a Scottish woman from Dundee and a black British man from Bradford. They’d both met in London, married, and the latter had been a barrister turned law professor, his wife a stay-at-home mother until she’d died of breast cancer in the 70s. Like his father, Franklin had studied political science at Oxford before focusing on the profession of teaching and marrying Monica Holton, a painter and curator from Leeds. When she was diagnosed with cancer in 1992, her three-year decline and eventual death had apparently hit Franklin hard, at least according to the financials Salem examined.

That was where things had gotten sticky.

He’d left Leeds with his daughter in tow and moved to London where he’d eventually crossed paths with Dido Lynn Darby and signed away his newborn son to the state.

Theodore was so focused on his conflicting emotions towards Dido Lynn Darby that he hadn’t quite focused on the fact that his father had been complicit in this. Once he did, Harry wanted to know what he was dealing with. Likely this wouldn’t end well, likely Franklin Adelaide had hoped Dido Lynn’s influence would make this whole situation nothing more than a scabbed over wound. Harry wanted to rip that wound open before Theodore to avoid a second round of parental vitriol over a mistake _they’d_ made that had led to this moment.

It was a fool’s errand to think past mistakes stayed buried forever, but both Dido Lynn and Franklin seemed the type to imagine that once they’d decided to throw their child away, he would stay gone. Whether Theodore wanted to attempt to pursue a relationship with them or not, Harry would make damn sure that they felt his presence. These weren’t two teenagers or drug addicts that couldn’t care for a child. Franklin had been a professor with a child already, and Dido Lynn had been a famed if young celebrity. That they had allowed this situation was absolutely unacceptable.

Harry opened the back door and snagged Attila’s leash as the dog leapt from the backseat to gaze around the space. They walked to the front door, Harry rapping his knuckles on the door. Attila, feeling his tension, pressed against his legs, body taut and prepared for trouble.

The door opened to Johanna laughing, her braided hair twisted up in a bun on top of her head and a steaming mug of tea in her hands. Her eyebrows rose, head tilting as she examined he and Attila standing in front of her. She opened her mouth in surprise before shaking her head slightly.

“Hey, Harry…uh, can I help you?”

“I heard you’d be here so I came to see you,” Harry deadpanned.

“Really?” Johanna asked in shock.

“No, is your father home?”

Johanna pursed her lips and peered back towards the living room before returning her gaze to Harry. “You’re here to see my _dad_?”

“I am,” Harry said well aware she was hoping for a different answer.

Slowly, Johanna nodded completely confused, though that didn’t surprise Harry in the slightest. Johanna would have been nine at the time Theodore was born, but Franklin and Dido Lynn had been so secretive that Harry imagined she’d had no idea what he was doing. After all, his wife had only been in the ground a few months before Theodore was conceived. Any sexual relationship he’d been having likely would have been kept entirely separate from his young, traumatized daughter.

Stepping aside, Johanna waved he and Attila inside. “Yeah, come on in. I’ll just…” she shook her head and closed the door behind him before guiding him down the short hallway into the living room.

At first glance, Franklin Adelaide looked similar to Theodore but not as much as Dido Lynn did. His skin was a shade or so darker, hair and beard cut short, peppered with grays. His eyes were the similar teal that Harry saw in Theodore’s. Franklin fell slightly on the pudgier side and seemed to favor trousers and sweaters like every British man over forty. Glasses perched on the end of his nose, attention focused on the television until Johanna’s return to the room reclaimed it.

Looking between Johanna and Harry, Franklin pushed his glass onto his head.

“Dad, this is my former colleague, Harry Benton-Sterling. Harry, this is my father, Franklin Adelaide.”

“You didn’t tell me your friend was coming over,” Franklin said, straightening in his chair as he examined Harry critically and the dog with a softer gaze. “Though I like him better than the other one you always bring around.”

“My _fiancé_ ’s name is Nate, dad. You know this.” Johanna complained while Franklin scoffed. She dropped to sit cross-legged on the sofa, waiting for Harry to follow and clearing her throat uneasily when he remained standing. “Anyway, Harry says he’s not here for me.” Franklin raised his eyebrows. “He came to see you.”

“See me? What does a publicist want with me?” Franklin huffed.

“I’m dating your son,” Harry said without preamble.

Johanna choked on her tea, eyes wide.

Franklin _really_ looked at him this time, lips curling up in a smile. “My son’s twelve,” Franklin remarked.

“Not that son,” Harry answered curtly.

Their eyes caught and held, a sliver of disbelief and fear flickering through Franklin’s eyes. Harry could see the strain it took not to shift his gaze to Johanna. The moment was interrupted by the sound of a glass door sliding open. Laughter and feet running over the tile followed by a yapping dog that slid into the room followed by a fourteen year old girl and a twelve year old boy, Crystal and Apollo. They halted in the doorway, dark eyes on Harry.

The Corgi made a move towards Attila with a threatening bark until, laughing, a pretty woman in her mid-forties, scooped the dog up. Attila watched the dog with a warning in every line of his body.

“Darling, what’s going on?” She asked softly.

“Take the kids upstairs, Angelica,” Franklin rasped, rising from his chair to walk to the shelf in the corner where a glass of whiskey sat between two cups. “You go too, Jo,” Franklin said while Angelica hesitantly shuffled her kids up the stairs, toting the Corgi with her.

“I won’t,” Johanna stated, earning a glare from her father as she talked back a drink. “What are you talking about, Harry?”

“You want to tell her?” Harry returned.

“How did you find out about that?” Franklin demanded, tossing back another drink.

“You can’t erase everything. Birth certificates are forever so is DNA. And you _did_ get a DNA test done.” Harry said plainly while Franklin sighed.

“And what does the boy want? He wants money, hmm? I won’t give it to him. Tell him to ask his mother for it,” Franklin spat coldly.

“Dad!” Johanna shouted, looking over at Harry with horror on her face. “You…what? He doesn’t want money. Maybe he wants to know…when was this? Where has _my brother_ been all this time?”

“Foster care,” Harry said shortly without removing his gaze from Franklin. “He was in foster care for fourteen years. Do you know what happened to him? Do you know what they did to him? Do you care?”

Franklin shook his head frantically, slamming his glass down on the shelf and whirled on Harry. “Of course I knew! But what was I supposed to do?”

“Raise your son!” Harry shouted, “It’s not like you couldn’t afford it. It’s not like you didn’t know how. You just didn’t care!”

“My wife had just died. I couldn’t look at it. The fact that it was existed was a betrayal to her memory.”

“She was dead,” Harry said coldly. “The only betrayal was the one where you threw away a child for your own peace of mind. And you got married again. Wasn’t that a betrayal? Or is it different if you love the woman you’re fucking and reproducing with? Those are the only children worth saving.”

“Do not be vulgar in my house, boy,” Franklin ordered.

“We are so far passed that,” Harry said tonelessly. Franklin took a step towards him, and Attila was on his feet instantly, snarling.

“What is going on here?” Angelica demanded from the doorway, hands on her hips.

Harry didn’t remove his attention from Franklin. “You’re a selfish asshole who justified throwing your child away because you were ashamed he existed. He doesn’t want anything from you, not yet, but I’m going to make sure you feel what you did every day for the rest of your life. He can’t ever forget the people that abused him while you played house with your second wife and your daughter, and you’re not going to either. So you carry on, and wait for me to come for you. You’re an unrepentant shit, and I won’t have it.”

Without waiting for a response, Harry started for the door, brushing passed Angelica. She stood on the staircase with shock on her face, astounded by what Harry had dropped into her lap.

“What do they call him? Now,” Franklin asked hesitantly.

Angelica and Johanna both turned to Harry. Johanna’s eyes held a hope that it wasn’t what she thought.

“Theodore Maverick,” Harry answered coldly.

Johanna crumpled onto the sofa, shocked, while Angelica’s mouth fell open in surprise. No one said a word as Harry went to the door and slammed it shut behind him.

* * *

It had been a long time since Theodore had gone to a hotel after party. Most celebrities lived in Los Angeles or at least had a home here. But this time Alina had hosted the party in a last hurrah with Azadi who were set to release their third studio album—with her after a long negotiation to ensure that they didn’t have to re-record. In exchange they’d promised to let her go without suing her for breach of contract or trying to keep her album from being released until the duration of her contract with Dissident and her label, Anathema, ran out.

Alina was in her element…or at least very drunk at least partially due to the black cloud of Shahnaz who watched her discreetly while chatting with Elena Valence. Elena wasn’t fooled in the slightest by his attempts to hide his gaze, but she played along dutifully. A very drunk Alina danced closely with Mizra who was more amused by her antics than uncomfortable with her handsy dancing. Yasmin and Javed chatted while keeping their eyes moving between Alina and Shahnaz like they were waiting to intervene should he make a move.

Azadi wouldn’t last long, not with the current tension thrumming beneath the surface.

Theodore almost hoped they proved him wrong, but they wouldn’t. Not with Shahnaz refusing to admit he’d been the one who’d ruined the band in the first place.

He wasn’t in the right frame of mind for such introspection, though. The minute his eyes had landed on Dido Lynn Darby tonight, he’d wanted a hit. His performance with Alina had been a temporary balm that had worn off quickly when he’d gotten to the party and found KJ Sykes and America Castillo snorting cocaine in the bathroom off the pool. Snorting a line of coke off the ass of some relatively unknown former Nickelodeon star trying to find her footing had been entirely the wrong call and yet he’d done it anyway, those few drinks in his system lowering his inhibitions dangerously.

He wanted Harry. And he wanted Attila. And he wanted to go home.

But he was here looking at the woman who abandoned him with Ember…something hanging off him in a dress too short, perfume too strong, and entirely too desperate.

Dido Lynn Darby settled in on of the chairs across the fire pit. Her gaze landed first on him, then on the girl wrapped around him like an accessory, halfway in his lap, hand high on her thigh. She scoffed and shook her head, sipping her drink delicately, pinky raised, and the judgment on her face completely unhidden.

“I wonder,” Theodore started, words slurring slightly. He shifted Ember off him gracelessly and leaned forward. Ember sprawled against his back. “When did you know? When I said my name was Theodore? When I said I was from London? Or when you realized I looked like you?”

For a moment she stiffened before relaxing, eyes narrowing. “How do you know about that?”

“You make things disappear. But I know Konstantin Kimura-Petrov.”

“Of course you do,” Dido Lynn Darby drawled with an eye roll. “You’re not angry are you? What a wasted emotion. You did well for yourself, didn’t you?” The words were a pointed dig at Ember.

“I knew you wouldn’t care,” Theodore said to her, “but I hoped anyway.”

“That why you drank so much?” Dido asked, crossing her legs and leaning forward. She flicked her finger against his empty glass of whiskey. “Or is it something else? Heroin or cocaine? I bet its cocaine. It always is with you young celebrities. Are you going to pretend it’s my fault you’re so high that you can’t even tell up from down right now?”

“See, I get why you abandoned me,” Theodore drawled, tensing when Ember nibbled at his ear, hands sliding over his torso. His body responded and through the haze of his high and clouds of his drink, Theodore knew he should stop, a distant whisper warning him that went unheeded. “You were—what?—eighteen when you gave birth? Back in ‘96, you would have been finished.”

Dido’s expression twisted into one of barely lashed rage. “Why don’t you have another drink? Take another hit. I was right to distance myself from you. You’re a mess.”

“I don’t know,” Theodore said. “I think I could handle a drug scandal. It’s all about of the Hollywood scene. Could you come out unscathed from a scandal that you abandoned you son to foster care when you secretly gave birth at eighteen, let him being emotionally and physically abused for fourteen years, and then tried to goad him into an overdose? That seems like a lot for the public to let go of. After all, you’re a woman. Not a man.”

Rage darkened her expression, and Dido leapt to her feet, glass clenched in her hand like she was going to throw it in his face.

“Careful,” Theodore purred, shaking hand raising his own glass to his lips. “If Dido Lynn Darby throws a drink in Maverick’s face, then something might just leak. Can you really afford for people to start asking questions?”

Dido threw her glass down on the ground. It shattered loudly, and she leaned down and whispered viciously, “All these years later, and you’re still the worst thing that every happened to me.” Theodore watched as she turned on her heel and marched off.

A dark feeling swallowed him, and Theodore pulled out his wallet, tossing a baggie of cocaine onto the table, pushing the candle aside. He tossed a dollar bill beside the baggie, dumping the powder onto the table and arranged the cocaine into three neat lines. His hands trembled so violently that Ember snickered and took the bill from his fingers to roll it for him. She leaned forward to take the first hit, passing the bill to Theodore who snorted the last two in rapid succession, tossing back the last of the alcohol his glass.

The world spun before his eyes, but the sickening feeling inside him had numbed enough to be bearable.

Ember laughed delightedly and straddled his lap, tossing her hair behind her shoulder as she pressed a teasing kiss to Theodore’s lips. He pulled back, tilting his head up to star vacantly up at the stars while she writhed in his lap and pressed kisses to his neck.

His phone vibrated in his pocket more than once before he felt enough to move for it, pulling it out of his pocket and staring down at the screen, brows furrowed at the message on screen.

“Come on baby,” Ember laughed, pulling the phone from his fingers. He pressed his lips together and tried to fight through everything flooding his system with numbness, that fog of euphoria that insisted everything was okay. It wasn’t, right? This wasn’t…he shouldn’t be…but he was horny and begrudgingly happy. His hands settled on Ember’s hips, and she pressed another kiss to his lips, longer this time. His phone chimed again, and he reached for it when Ember caught his wrist, other hand running over his chest to press against his erection. His breath caught, eyes on her. Ember smirked wickedly, leaning forward to whisper in his ear, “What do you think, baby? Should we move this to your room?”

 

 


	30. "Safe Inside" by James Arthur

**Text message from Harry**

**Harry:** Are you okay?

**Harry:** Did you see Dido?

**Harry:** Theodore.

 

**Text message from Rory**

**Rory:** I don’t know.

**Rory:** He’s definitely high. Definitely drunk. We weren’t allowed access and didn’t see him until this morning. I just don’t know.

 

**Ember Caraleigh (@EmberCara)**

What a good night ;)

 

**Jingle Ball gets a healthy dose of cuteness**

It’s taken some time, but now that we’re all on team Alina/Maverick bromance, we can safely admit they’re adorable. Despite rumors of a breakup, Azadi attended Jingle Ball touring with their recently released third studio album, _Realistically_ , which included Alina Rosen and was partially produced by Maverick. Maverick, also making the rounds for Jingle Ball, performed not only their song ‘Perfect Storm’ which won collaboration of the year, but also debuted a collaboration with Elena Valence called, ‘The Other Woman’ which the three have announced they will release a music video for come January while Maverick is in Los Angeles shooting _The Woman Who Would Be King_ in studio before shooting relocates to Morocco. Maverick confessed in a recent interview that the song was written primarily by Valence and Rosen independent of him when Rosen found the sheet music he’d written in his home. “She came back and goes, I borrowed some of your music composition and wrote a song with Elena [Valence] so you should sing and produce so it’s not intellectual property theft,” Maverick confessed laughing. “How could I refuse such a magnanimous offer?”

> **Comments:**
> 
> **red_x17:** Maverick’s like the best friend ever
> 
> **Anonymous:** They’re literally my brotp. I can’t even with Alina and Maverick
> 
> **ttxyz816:** I’m going to go ahead and say it’s weird he has all these gorgeous female friends and a totally MIA gf
> 
> **nettie98nemi:** Are you saying he’s faking a relationship with some unnamed girl?
> 
> **anonymous:** no boo, she’s saying he gay

 

**Text message from Mama**

**Mama:** Teddy I know you’re still upset

**Mama:** I just want you to know I love you, and I’m thinking about you.

**Mama:** Merry Christmas sugar. Make sure to call your dad.

 

**Teddy Langston (@TM_1996)**

Family roast for Boxing Day, but just a quiet Christmas with the love of my life

 

**Dakota Crosby (@K9_Crosby)**

@TM_1996 what the hell is a roast? And Boxing Day? Brits are so weird

* * *

“You know the studio wanted me to put out a Christmas album?” Theodore asked absently, back resting the corner of the L-shaped sofa where he sat on the hardwood floors. A guitar in his lap, and Attila snoozing beneath him happily.

“I did,” Harry snorted in amusement, returning from the kitchen with two cups of tea that he set on the coffee table. “I get all these emails about you from your management and label about trying to get you to do shit. I just can’t see you doing a Christmas album.”

“Sia did one,” Theodore argued.

“Sia didn’t write a whole album about sex,” Harry pointed out.

“No, she just wrote _two_ whole albums about crippling childhood trauma and drug addiction.” Theodore remarked wryly, reaching out for his tea with a smile.

Harry hummed and nodded, “Then when you write one of those, you’ll be mature enough to write a Christmas album.”

Theodore groaned, head falling back against the couch. Christmas albums were so not his schtick. He’d grown up with an aversion to Christmas he was only just getting over. He liked Hallmark movies and festive décor and seasonal goodies, but otherwise Christmas just seemed like a waste of time. This obsession with getting presents wasn’t something that he’d ever understood since by the time Santa Claus had been in his radar, Theodore had known that the only thing he’d want was his parents, later not to get beaten by his foster parents, and none of those things would ever happen.

At the very least, the renovations had been done before Christmas, before he’d even flown back after Jingle Ball wrapped up. He’d spent a couple days in Annapolis visiting with Ali and his parents before a quick to Georgia to say hi to Dakota and the Fulton County Police Department who spent most of his visit passing around pictures of Attila across London.

The house that had been Curtis and Mabel’s felt more like his with all the walls torn down to open the space. They’d replaced the old sofa with a light grey sectional and the coffee table with a vintage chest they’d found in one of the upstairs bedrooms. The vintage glass chandelier hanging on the ceiling had belonged to Harry’s grandmother and used to hang in Benton’s Pub before renovations to update the space had forced a lighting change. The chaise lounge by the front window had quickly doubled as a dog bed when Attila claimed it. Harry had upgraded the TV hanging over the short bookshelf full of DVDs, game consoles, and Theodore’s record player, which had been resurrected from a box in their bedroom.

Mabel’s dining room table and French hutch remained in the dining room across from the update kitchen where the glass tiles he’d pined for and never thought Harry would approve sparkled in the light. A fake Christmas tree was lit up in the right corner of the living room with the ivory tree skirt at the bottom.

The fireplace between the kitchen and living room had been turned into a two-sided masterpiece that crackled with a fire. Theodore had never quite felt like he was home until he’d come home from Jingle Ball and looked around the house realizing this was actually his space that he and Harry ha created together. Attila had raced down the stairs sounding like he weighed two hundred pounds instead of seventy to lunge happily at Theodore while Harry had texted him about grocery shopping and yelling at _Ethereal_ ’s unit publicist, Li Min for something she did during an interview with Charlie Beck.

Food was in his fridge with half a mug of cooled tea on the counter beside the scooper for Attila’s food cabinet open and a bag of annihilated pig’s ear treats spread across the floor.

And he realized he’d come home.

“Tara Reid is a terrible actress,” Theodore pointed out, gesturing to the television where they were streaming _A Royal Christmas Ball_. “And why does she stand like? Her stomach pokes out, shoulders hunched. It’s bizarre. We should have just watched _A Crown for Christmas_ or _A Puppy for Christmas_ or that one about the marketing chick and the Christmas tree farm.”

“We watched all of those already,” Harry argued. “I like _Dashing Through the Snow_.”

“Can we watch that one instead? Or _Holiday in Handcuffs._ I can’t take anymore of Tara Reid.”

“We have to see how it ends.”

Theodore turned his head to narrow his eyes on Harry who hid his smile. “Is this like the Handel Messiah thing? You know how it ends. They get married, he realizes Lilly is his daughter, and Rosa’s apologetic for ripping them apart!”

“Handel’s Messiah was a genuine concern,” Harry lied with a smile.

Handel’s Messiah had been their excursion this year. Theodore had never sat through anything musical and not liked it—operas included—until he sat through the hours upon hours of Handel’s Messiah. The symphonic journey of Christ’s life had been beyond boring. When he’d suggested he and Harry cut out early, Harry had only smirked and said they had to stay to find out the ending. It had taken another thirty-minute song for Theodore to realize everyone knew how the story of Christ’s life ended. He’d been betrayed, and Harry had been amused. Though, it had still been better than _CATS_.

“I will kill you,” Theodore deadpanned. “Never again with Handel’s Messiah.”

“CATS, then?”

“Harry!” Theodore shouted while Harry tossed his head back and laughed.

“I have something for you, and then I’ll put on a movie. Maybe,” Harry teased, pausing the movie and finishing the rest of his tea before he rose to his feet.

Attila sat up automatically, tail wagging.

Theodore sighed and set aside his guitar. “You always say we’re not doing presents, and then get me a Christmas present. Should I get you a car next year?”

“I have a car,” Harry said with a shrug.

“ _I_ have a car,” Theodore argued with a laugh.

“No, you have a driver,” Harry clarified. “Besides, this is also a joint present. I mean paid for it, but I got a huge discount since, you know, he had such a great time making it. Businessman,” Harry scoffed disbelievingly, shaking his head. He started walking backwards towards the door. Attila jumped up excitedly and followed him. “Come on, Teddy.”

Sighing, Theodore hopped to his feet and crossed his arms, catching the sweatshirt Harry tossed him from the coatrack. “We’re going outside?”

“Just come on,” Harry huffed with a smile.

Theodore slipped on his flip-flops and followed Harry out the front door and down the steps to the in-law suite that they never used beneath the house. He slanted Harry an inquisitive look. “Are you hiding in-laws?”

“Open the door,” Harry ordered without answering.

Suspicions still fixed, Theodore opened the door and fumbled for the light switch, pausing when his eyes took in the space, which no longer smelled like mothballs or horrible abandoned furniture that hadn’t been updated since the 70s. The alcove kitchen to the left had been updated. The reception room had been turned into an equipment room with a Steinway Grand Piano in the corner, his guitars hung up on the wall with his instruments in storage cabinets. Running along the top of the room were all his music books and notebooks, records and demo CDs tucked away neatly along with extra amps, microphones, cords, and pop filters. Speakers mounted on the walls.

Dazedly, he walked across the room to open the barn doors on the wall.

A small bathroom was on the left but the rest of what had once been a bedroom and hallway had been turned into the most high-tech recording studio he’d ever seen. A huge Persian carpet was spread across the floor, the awards that had been shoved into his bedroom with no place to put them displayed in a cabinet. Against one wall was a touchscreen that spanned the whole space and seemed to connect to the sleek mixing table that even had a modified turntable like the kind Carter Skeet had invented. Everything with digitized with a large screen that Theodore could put up and hide as needed. A small closet hid extra microphones and monitors and other equipment.

The vocal booth encompassed the whole space that used to be the second bathroom and bathroom down stairs with microphones, music stands, a drum kit, proper soundproofing and insulation, a couch, and a smaller piano. All the colors were dark with woods, deep blues, and burgundy. Theodore choked up, hands covering his mouth as he shook his head and frowned, turning to Harry with tears in his eyes.

“This is a professional recording studio,” Theodore said like Harry didn’t know.

He pursed his lips and nodded, “Yeah, it pays to know Salem. He’s such a workaholic.”

“Oh,” Theodore said like it was no big deal, “so this is like the next-gen recording studio that everyone’s going to want in ten years when Salem finally releases the tech?”

“Yeah,” Harry said uncomfortably. “But if you’re in here for more than twelve hours daily I’ll drag you upstairs by your hair.”

“In the fun way?” Theodore said with laughter that turned to tears as he hugged Harry tightly, sobbing quietly into his shoulder. “You’re kind of sweet, you know that?”

“Don’t tell anybody,” Harry said gruffly.

“Our secret,” Theodore promised, smiling through his tears.

The moment didn’t break until Harry’s phone rang, forcing Theodore to step back and wipe the tears from his eyes. Harry wasn’t so much a workaholic he had to answer every phone call, but most people knew they’d get a better response if they texted or emailed. Whether on his work or personal phone, phone calls got answered always.

Harry pressed a kiss to temple as he answered the call before he could speak, the other person was already talking, and Harry frowned. “Okay,” he finally got out before being cut off again. He shook his head slightly and tilted back his head with disbelief. “So where is she?” Whatever answer he received, Harry didn’t appear to like. “Today? Well, it’s Christmas. I don’t understand why you chose to address this today…well of course there’s not a good time, but there’s definitely a better time…I…okay. Okay, Mum.”

He hung up his phone with an eye roll and a long-suffering sigh.

“I have to go.”

“Why?” Theodore asked curiously.

“My sister, Violet, is apparently addicted to diet pills. Mum thought today was a great time to talk about how she’s been doing this for _three months_.”

Theodore pursed his lips and considered Harry seriously, “What an interesting time to do this…” He shook his head dismissively. “Road-tripping to Reading. I’ll pack snacks for us…” he trailed off and turned to where Attila rolled over the carpet to cover everything in his scent. “And the dog.” Attila perked up and stared at them, shaking himself off and trotting over to sit at their feet like he wasn’t being weird.

Harry grabbed his wrist before he could walk away. “Thank you,” he said quietly.

Theodore smiled and pressed a lingering kiss to his lips.

* * *

 

Reading was an hour away from their house by car. Theodore had never been before, at least not for more than a stopover between tour destinations. He’d eaten at a pub there once, but the trip along the M4 over Christmas wasn’t nearly as terrible as Theodore had been expecting and the potato chips certainly helped to improve his temperament.

The Sterlings lived off the highway down a quieter street lived lined by small Harry Potter style brick terraced homes with front gardens only big enough for a couple bikes and the bins for recycling and trash. Harry parked in front of a brick house with two small windows up top and two on the bottom one on each side of the two doors, one a white in need of washing and the other a dark blue that also did little to hide the dirt that it encountered on a daily basis. A skimpy Christmas tree shined in the window of the sitting room giving off a homey vibe completely at odds with the situation.

Harry led the way to the blue front door with Theodore and Attila following behind. He opened the door and let them into the narrow entry hallway. He leaned around the doorway of the sitting room and tipped up his chin as Theodore closed the door and let the dog off his leash. Attila bolted towards Harry, always aware of where the humans were to steal love and affection in large doses. Theodore stood beside Harry whose attention was focused on a burly man with short, dark hair sitting cross-legged on the floor with a fifteen-year old boy playing Monopoly.

Roger Sterling stroked the dog in greeting, trying to avoid the kisses Attila offered while his son, Gordon, tilted his head to gape at Theodore. He waved and turned towards Harry.

“Where are they?”

Sighing, Roger shook his head. “Upstairs. Vi locked herself in her room. I told your mother today was not the day to do that. She’s so weird with Vi. Completely inappropriate and poorly thought out, you know?”

“I know,” Harry agreed. “Thanks.”

“Dad, isn’t that Maverick?” Gordon whispered when Theodore followed Harry up the stairs and down a flip-flopped L-shaped hallway to a small room at the end.

The door was covered in pink streamers, photographs of different beaches, and celebrities. Definitely the room of a teenaged girl. The woman that had brought Violet to his show in London stood outside the door, the picture of fury, hands fisted on her waist and chest heaving. Theodore raised his eyebrows, hanging back to let Harry handle his fuming mother. She looked over at them and her face tightened.

“What is he doing here?”

“We’re dating,” Harry said shortly.

“Aren’t you done with this phase yet?” Lindsay asked her son coolly.

“Apparently not,” he returned. “She have an eating disorder too?”

“Did you know?” Lindsay fired off with fury.

“No, but you did so don’t act like this is my fault.” Harry told her, knocking on the door. “Vi? It’s Harry.”

“Go away! I told her and you and everyone to go away! I don’t want to talk!”

Theodore sighed and shook his head, brushing passed Harry and knocking again. “Violet, it’s Maverick.”

She was quiet for a moment before saying with considerably less aggression: “I don’t want to see anyone.”

“I started doing cocaine when I was fourteen. So if you think this is ugly, you’re behind the curve.” Theodore told her shortly. Her heard rustling inside a moment before the lock clicked and knob turned. A single brown eye peeked out at him. Behind him, Theodore felt the air shift as Lindsay moved, but Harry cut her off, holding her back.

“Fourteen?”

“Should we talk?” Theodore asked, pushing the door open and stalking inside.

“He’s a drug addict!” Lindsay argued, voice shrilly.

“So is she,” Harry returned, nodding at him as Theodore shut the door behind him and locked it.

Violet looked considerably different than the last time he’d seen her. She’d dropped twenty pounds easily. She looked gaunt, cheekbones too sharp, eyes sunken in with deep bruises underneath, and lips cracked. Her hair hung lank and lifeless past her shoulders, and she shivered even under a thick sweater like she was standing naked in the snow. It was terrifying. Theodore had never looked like he used drugs. At the very least, Preston had made sure he could function.

“You’re sober now?”

“I’m not,” Theodore said succinctly.

Violet frowned, “And Harry still dates you?”

Theodore smiled and shrugged, “Eventually I’ll be ready or he’ll be done.”

She grimaced and shook her head, tears welling in her eyes. “I see how she looks at me. _Looked_ at me. Like she couldn’t believe I was her daughter. She got this look when the GP said I had to lose weight. She already loves my brother more than me.”

“Harry?” Theodore asked disbelievingly.

“She gave up on Harry,” Violet said shortly, reminding Theodore about the boy downstairs. Right. “I couldn’t deal with her giving up on me. It was just a couple pills at first, skipping a meal or two. Then she stopped saying these comments about me getting big as a house or remarking about wanting another helping of pasta bake at dinner. And it felt good to have her approve of me, you know? Then I just…” Violet shrugged.

Theodore stayed quiet and waited, leaning against the door.

“The kids at school all made fun of me. I was fat one day, then I was too skinny, you know? They call me Twigs now, but it’s better than being called a whale.”

“What do you want?” Theodore asked her.

“What?”

“What did you want? Did you want to lose weight? Because there are better ways, faster ways even. And if your mother hated your size that much she would have helped. So why pills? Were they easy? Were they there? How did you pay for them? How did you find them? Why them? Why them and the no eating? Why?”

“I…I don’t,” Violet said frantically, shaking her head. “I…it was…I don’t know.”

Theodore was quiet for a moment, nodding while Violet thought about it, eyebrows furrowing while she tried to go through her thought process to figure out how they’d gotten to this point. He nodded in understanding.

“I was fourteen when I first did cocaine. I was a party I didn’t want to be at with people I didn’t like. My manager was trying to negotiate this deal for a movie. And I needed to network. More contacts. More publicity. My adoptive mother wanted me to come home for Christmas with her family who still wasn’t sure about me. And the Home Office had just told me my records were sealed and I couldn’t find out who my biological parents were. Ever. And this kid—who’s dead now—handed me a rolled up dollar bill and asked me if I wanted to take a hit. So I did. And I forgot everything. I forgot that I didn’t like where I was or who I was with or that my adoptive family didn’t like me or that my biological parents had gone to drastic measures to hide from me. And I liked that I forgot.”

Violet looked up at him with fear in her eyes.

Theodore nodded and smiled slightly. “Why I started doesn’t matter anymore, and that’s scary. Why I did it is immaterial now because I can’t stop. I do cocaine at least three times a week in front of your brother or my bodyguard or my PA because I can’t function without it. If you still have a reason—a _real_ reason that’s beyond wanting to lose weight—then you can be fixed. But even if I’m sober, this is going to be something I carry for the rest of my life. I’ve been ready to quit my addiction for at least a year, but I’m more scared of being without than I am of Harry leaving me. You do not want to be like me.”

Eyes welling with tears, Violet broke into sobs and admitted, “I can’t get sober with her.”

He nodded, “We can work with that.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Valentine's Day! This is where I leave you.


	31. "Heaven" by Julia Michaels

**Text message from Rosie**

**Rosie:** NYE???

**Harry:** Can’t. Hanging with dad and Felicity.

**Rosie:** WHY THOUGH

**Harry:** We’re getting Vi acclimated. She’s living there and going to sixth form with them

**Rosie:** What the hell happened over xmas?

**Harry:** She got addicted to pain pills, told mum she made things worse, and fled to London to go to outpatient clinics out here.

**Harry:** Mum won’t let her live with me and Teddy as he does cocaine

**Rosie:** O.O well this escalated quickly

 

**Violet Sterling (@sterlingviolet)**

First day at #LondonBrookesCollege but I’m feeling good about it #ALevels #letsgo

 

**Magi (@blackmagicgurl)**

Who’s seen The Other Woman music video? Someone gush with me #maveratics

 

**Devin K (@duvlinaog)**

@blackmagicgurl holy fuck yessss it was on fire #someonesaveme #onfire #burn

 

**KT (@KTY78765)**

@AlinaAzadi @e_valence1997 @MaverickOfficial literally killed me. I’m here for our baby Mav playing an apologetic womanizer #maveratics

 

**Maverick (@MaverickOfficial)**

@KTY78765 I’m so impressed. Is that not what people already think? O_O

 

**Tanta (@q_tanta56)**

Is it too late to give @AlinaAzadi @e_valence1997 @MaverickOfficial a Grammy for this song #myheart #thefeels #maveratics

 

**Text message from Harry**

**Harry:** How’s Morocco?

**Theodore:** Hot.

**Harry:** Anything else?

**Theodore:** Fucking hot.

**Harry:** With that glowing recommendation maybe I should stay home…

**Theodore:** NOooooooo come suffer with me.

 

**Crisial Updates (@CrisialUpdates)**

@Cris_Emerson announced he's MARRYING @DorianII #ComeAtMe #CrisialIsReal #DontSayItsWeirdPlatonic #CrisEmerson #IrialDorian

 

**Maverick (@MaverickOfficial)**

@CrisialUpdates ok but we all knew this yes? I mean if subtle was an art form @Cris_Emerson @DorianII are shitty artists

 

**Lenny T (@LenaiaTwainXD)**

@MaverickOfficial is so savage tonight

**Maverick (@MaverickOfficial)**

@Imani_Samir looking regal as fuck #Hatshepsut #mystepmom #myauntie #ancientegypt

 

**Imani Samir (@Imani_Samir)**

@MaverickOfficial way to make our relationship sound super creeptastic.

 

**Maverick (@MaverickOfficial)**

@Imani_Samir I mean is it NOT? The Ancient Egyptians took incest and amped up the crazy to the nth degree #justsaying #sorrynotsorry

 

**Habiba Benali (@HabibaLoves)**

@MaverickOfficial out here so excited for our three-day filming in Marrakech

 

**Maverick (@MaverickOfficial)**

@HabibaLoves T.T #soready ;P

* * *

“Do you really need anymore clothes?” Harry asked offhandedly, hands in his back pockets as Theodore examined a selection of gorgeous kaftans displayed in the booth while an older woman laughed at the pair of them. Harry shook his head and crossed his arms, narrowing his eyes on the dress Theodore ran his fingers over.

“She thinks I do, obviously,” Theodore said with a charming smile towards the older woman. Whether she understood what he’d said or not, she was charmed. She tossed her head back laughing and nodded. Grinning, he turned his head to face Harry. “Besides, this is obviously not for me. Kaftans are for _girls_. You should get your sister a present while you’re here. She’s going through a lot. Can I take this one please?” Theodore asked the woman, gesturing towards the kaftan.

She nodded and pulled it down to package it for him.

“I didn’t get that much.”

Harry raised his eyebrows but didn’t argue that incredible lie.

Theodore was enchanted by Morocco. They had decorative plates and the fabulous Moroccan lanterns that Theodore would likely steal to hanging downstairs in his studio. There were piles of fabric, a collection of jewelry, bags for Alina and Mabel whenever he deigned to speak with her again. Another kaftan for Alina. Shoes and rugs and baskets. Harry had purchased another suitcase just to get Theodore’s growing stockpile home…or, at least part of it.

His fascination with the souk and newfound love of haggling was both impressive and a little concerning. However much money he spent, he still had to either get all his treasures home or tote them around Morocco until filming ended in a couple months. It was sort of amazing how much shopping he’d managed to do in such a short amount of time, but at least the day had been filled with something other than shopping.

Surprisingly, Theodore had had a plan for Harry’s three-day visit to Marrakech on the one day he had completely available. He was scheduled to shoot any scenes that day leaving he and Harry all day together. Theodore had woken him early in the morning for a breakfast on the terrace of their room before hustling him onto a shuttle bus to Majorelle Gardens to walk the narrow pathways surrounded by foliage and cactus gardens interspersed with the delicate and regal architectural marvels of the pavilion and its fountains.

Then it had been onto Palmeraie where Theodore had filmed the day before. Harry had caught a glimpse of it when he’d been dropped off from the airport. It had been beautiful then, the palm grove that was nothing but sand and palm trees. According to their guide, the palms were ancient, and Harry could picture it after watching Imani and Theodore dressed like ancient Egyptians and arguing between the trees in the grove. That image paired with the experience riding camels to tour the grove, it had been easy to picture what life in an ancient Morocco must have been like. A pair of young girls in their tour grip had managed to charm a photo and an autograph out of Theodore who’d earned their eternal adoration when he’d sung to them midway through the camel ride to the amusement of literally every adult on the tour.

Tea had tided them over enough after the driver returned them to their hotel for Harry to agree to a shopping trip if only to see these renowned marketplaces for himself.

Somehow, Theodore seemed very much in his element moving through Morocco having picked up just enough Arabic to get by with most of the locals. That was the trouble with Theodore, though. He was smart but never just allowed himself to be with anything over than music. Harry was willing to bet that by the time he left Morocco he’d be close to fluent in Arabic. He spent a great deal of time with the local crew puzzling through the grammar and pestering them into teaching him. All of them seemed impressed at how quickly he picked up the language.

“What time’s dinner?” Theodore asked again as he paused to admire a beautiful hijab muttering about how Yasmin would like it.

“An hour.”

“An _hour_?” Theodore balked, sighing and returning to the hijab. He nodded and turned back to the woman in the booth and said something to her in halting Arabic. Her face broke out in a smile, and she corrected his grammar, listening as he repeated himself before nodding serenely. She plucked up the headscarf and asked him another question that Theodore replied to with a shrug earning another pleased smile from him.

“What did she ask?” Harry inquired when they walked away with yet another package.

“If it was for my girlfriend.” Theodore titled his head and then shrugged, “I mean technically she is my girl friend. Besides, it’s not like I’ll have to follow up.”

Harry laughed while Theodore shrugged weakly.

The walk from Jemaa el-Fna Square to the hotel was a half an hour leaving them both just enough time to jump into the shower and changing out of their day clothes to something more presentable. Somehow what was supposed to be a dinner between the two of them in late celebration of Harry’s twenty-fourth birthday had turned into the cast of the movie inviting themselves along. Looking for a nearby restaurant had been co-opted into dining with everyone in Riad Kniza’s in-house restaurant to make things easier for everyone.

Theodore was still frustrated by this, but Harry found himself more amused than anything else. It didn’t totally surprise him, now was it irritating just a fact of life. And he didn’t actually mind the company. Imani and Habiba were always entertaining, and Harry had met the director at another industry party where he’d found him sitting in some singer’s kitchen spooning cream cheese frosting out of a container without the slightest hint of remorse.

The dinner was held in a semi-private dining room large enough to hold the whole party. A fireplace crackled to dispel the slight chill in the air, the top half of the room painted white while the bottom had traditional mosaic tiling, blue and white it what looked like a floral pattern. The scones on the wall between paintings gave off dim light that compliment the atmosphere set by the chandelier of colored glass dangling from the center of the room. Deep red couches lined the perimeter of the room with matching patterned pillows propped up against the mosaic tiles. Round tables sat in front of the couches, a couple in the middle of the room, chairs that matched both the couches and the carpet around the circumference.

Most of the cast, it seemed, had already made their way downstairs. Habiba sat beside Jay Mereen in a long kaftan, with a flirtatious smile on her lips and one finger twirling her dark hair around her finger. Imani was engaged in an uproarious conversation with Amir Dodson and the director, Lucas Russell, who she was rumored to have had an affair with. One hand resting plainly on his wrist while she batted her eyelashes, Harry wouldn’t be surprised if that rumor was true all things considered.

Meryem, being the least taken with her conversation, caught sight of them first.

“Look who finally showed up!” She called out with laughter.

Theodore frowned and leaned towards Harry. “Are we late?”

“No.”

“Okay, just making sure.”

“I saved seats for you two. Come. Here, here,” Drew called out where he sprawled across a corner booth. His wife, Nahla, worked as a sound engineer and sat nearby, rolling her eyes at his dramatics.

Harry and Theodore exchanged amused glances before weaving through tables, Theodore pausing to greet people individually until they were smushed into the corner of the room at a table with Drew, Nahla, River Kito an actor playing the architect Ineni, and Marc Tatorius who was playing Thutmose III’s military commander Amenemheb-Mahu.

“I’m sorry your birthday was usurped,” Marc offered Harry genuinely.

“I don’t like my birthday,” Harry confided when Theodore was pulled into conversation with Nahla and Drew. “I don’t even celebrate it. Teddy’s way more upset than I am.”

Marc laughed while River nodded sagely, “At least the food’s supposed to be good, you know? And belly dancers,” he said with a wolfish grin.

Tilting his head, Marc pointed a finger at River. “Do not sexualize belly dancers. They’re not strippers. This is a cultural practice that predates the sexualization of dance practices.”

Slowly, Harry shook his head. “I’m not going to argue that Europeans had a very different interpretation of belly dancers than in the areas where that practice originated, but every culture sexualized dancing.”

“Dancing’s supposed to be sensual. Seductive. That’s why the Europeans had shitty line dances for so long. To bore everyone into chastity,” River agreed with a grin.

“How well that worked,” Marc rolled his eyes. “They deflowered poverty stricken townsfolk and knocked up women they went on to call whores for premarital sex.”

“No,” Nahla added her own voice to the conversation. “That was the wives. Men loved whores way more than they loved religion. Women loved religion because they thought it would keep their men in line. Vicious, vicious cycle.”

“That never worked,” Harry added with a nod.

“It didn’t work with Islam?” Marc asked curiously.

Nahla laughed, “Should we talk about when Europeans made it to the Middle East for the first time and all the gay they found there?”

“Like Europeans didn’t have all the gay?” Marc teased in reply.

“Not out the open like that,” River stated offhandedly while the rest of the table laughed.

Drinks were ordered when the waiters arrived, Theodore abstained from wine ordering orange juice while Harry ordered a glass of red wine. With drinks came appetizers: vegetarian harira soup, chicken pastilla, salads, and briwates with beef filling.

The belly dancer came out not long afterwards accompanied two men with traditional instruments who played the music and sung along to her dancing. Theodore hummed underneath his breath, eyes growing vacant, and Harry could see him dissecting the music. With a slight smile, Harry recorded the music on his phone, knowing Theodore would obsess about it later on and with a recording—however much he’d bitch about the quality—life would be infinitely better for both of them.

“Are you doing tajine or couscous?” Theodore asked under his breath.

Harry turned to him with an indulgent but nonetheless sharp smile. “Why? You’ll get what I don’t get so you can taste it?”

Theodore smiled impishly and shrugged. “Couscous or tajine?”

“Do you like couscous?”

He scowled, “They look like weird alien eggs.”

“What do alien eggs look like?” Harry reiterated with a laugh.

“Couscous,” Theodore nodded like this was obvious.

“ _I’ll_ get the lamb couscous otherwise you’ll complain. You’ve already psyched yourself out on the couscous.”

“Or you can get lamb tajine, and I’ll get the chicken. I like that plan better,” Theodore said with a mischievous smile.

Harry tilted his head and considered his boyfriend with an absent disbelief.

“I thought it was _Harry’s_ birthday,” Drew asked.

Theodore colored and shrugged, “But I’m younger, so he should be nice to me.”

“You think so?” Harry challenged. He looked at the rest of the table and shrugged, “He’s right. He’s younger, and I should indulge him.” Theodore beamed until Harry continued, “But obviously I’m way too mature to be friends with a child. So I feel like our relationship should be strictly professional from here, okay? Don’t call me at three am for a boring _Star Trek: The Original Series_ marathon or send me emails to save your soul in the press. Well…maybe that last one but can you afford me?”

Mouth dropping open in surprise, Theodore huffed and rolled his eyes. “Always so rude to me.”

“Yeah?” Harry rested his elbow on the table, chin in his palm and fingers tapping against his cheek.

Theodore looked at him with a smirk, eyes darkening and smile lecherous. His suddenly desperate need to get laid wasn’t subtle despite the number of people at the table. He tilted his head and hummed, biting his lower lip as he nodded. “Yeah,” he said, voice already hoarse.

Their gazes held for a moment, Harry nodding slowly drawing a wicked smile from Theodore who sat back against the wall, smug.

“Fuck, Mav,” River said with a laugh. “You need to get laid. I thought you were gonna eat him. He’s your best friend not you boyfriend. Not that you’re not a beautiful man, Harry.”

“Oh thanks,” Harry said lightly, shaking his head and resting a hand on Theodore thigh. Theodore’s eyes slipped closed for a moment while Nahla looked between them, eyebrow crooked.

Theodore grinned laconically. “When in Rome, right?”

“I’m sure Moroccans will appreciate that,” River said with an eye roll.

“Is he wrong though?” Marc teased.

“My you two are interesting,” Nahla said deceptively lightly.

Theodore didn’t even tense, head turning in Harry’s direction as he stole his wine and took a quick sip.

Harry met her eyes and shrugged his shoulders. He wasn’t altogether worried about Nahla knowing. She was sharp as a tack and uninterested in Hollywood. She had been an actress once before changing careers. Now she preferred sound engineering but sometimes shifted between videography and directing as the mood struck. Avoiding drama was her MO and that left her entirely outside Harry’s damage-control purview.

“You have the main course, dessert, and tea to get through,” Harry told Theodore quietly. “Do not get yourself worked up at this table. I am not going to be arrested in Morocco for lewd behavior with a man. Are we clear?”

Theodore smiled, tongue poking out from between his teeth as he nodded.

Except it took longer than that.

Determined to be good hosts, the cast insisted on de-stressing in the luxurious spa and pool areas that Theodore couldn’t actually bow out of without looking like an asshole and Harry without appearing ungrateful. But the longer this went on the more worked up Theodore got, resorting to swimming laps in the pool until he was relaxed enough to be sociable.

Legs dipped in the far end of the pool, back to the wall, Harry leaned back on his hands and entertained Habiba’s very passionate discussion about how women were portrayed in film and the damage inaccurate historical films and television shows inflicted on people that watched them who otherwise would never come into contact with that kind of information. It rapidly turned into an argument between Imani and Habiba over the hijab in Muslim culture that Harry abandoned, though remaining in place as he half-listened to Imani’s pro-hijab choice argument versus Habiba’s it’s never okay.

He stayed in his own lane.

Tired from filming, they dispersed relatively quickly, one-by-one, but Harry watched the frustration mount in Theodore, knowing full and well they weren’t leaving fast enough for him.

When Habiba was enticed out by Jay, Theodore paused and glanced around before swimming over to where Harry sat. He stood between Harry’s legs, forearms resting on his knees. He hefted himself up, and Harry leaned down, allowing the long, dirty kiss that communicated all Theodore’s need in a single moment.

His hand slipped through the slit of Harry’s board shorts, calloused hand encircling his cock. Harry inhaled sharply, head falling back and hips canting into the touch even as he said, “No.”

“You know I need it,” Theodore said in reply, words a breathy whisper as he drew Harry’s cock out of his shorts. His breath ghost over the tip, and Harry shivered, laughing a little as he shook his head slightly. _Arrested, arrested, arrested,_ he reminded himself mentally. “It’ll be quick.”

“Says you,” Harry said, looking down as him through hooded his.

“It’s always quick when you fuck my mouth.”

Harry groaned and shifted his heads to Theodore’s hair, tightening until his eyes dilated, mouth falling open slightly and breathing stuttered from anticipation. “Don’t you dare come in this pool, Theodore.”

He grinned, “What’ll you give me for it?”

“Life is so much easier when you’re not talking,” Harry said in response, thrusting into the wet heat of Theodore’s mouth. His eyes rolled back, hoarse groan escaping from his mouth. He was absolutely right; Harry was always quick when he fucked Theodore’s mouth.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> London Brookes College is a real sixth form college that was right down the road from my university. The square, market, hotel, and tour all actually exist. It's amazing (and a little scary) what you can learn on line. The food the hotel serves is also accurate.
> 
> Check out Hapshetsut if you have some time to spare, she was a boss. One of the best female pharaoh's in Egypt she was regent for her nephew and step-son, ThutmoseIII, after his father died but coopted the position and ruled as pharaoh in her own right even after he reached his maturity. Historians thought for a while that Thutmose III was the one who destroyed statues and temples in her honor, but since he served as her trusted general for years and didn't start destroying things with her name until well into old age, they've since changed the theory that it was actually Thutmose's son to, for lack of a better term, keep women in their proper place.
> 
> And I'm not even gonna lie to you, this is the calm before the storm. You're welcome


	32. "Train Wreck" by James Arthur

**Yasmin (@YasminAzadi)**

@MaverickOfficial you get the best presents!

 

**Maverick (@MaverickOfficial)**

@YasminAzadi I know I’m such a great friend :P

 

**Maverick (@MaverickOfficial)**

Ouarzazate if near the Sahara, yes, but it’s so hot I might actually die

 

**Alina Rosen (@AlinaAzadi)**

@MaverickOfficial now I see why you’re an actor! Always so dramatic!

 

**Stephanie Crosby (@Stephiexxx)**

@MaverickOfficial congrats on turning 22! You’re officially old.

 

**Violet Sterling (@sterlingviolet)**

@Stephiexxx isn’t he? He’s practically ancient.

 

**Maverick (@MaverickOfficial)**

@Stephiexxx @sterlingviolet I’m reporting both of you to your parents o_o

 

**Text message from Theodore**

**Theodore:** Want to come to Ouarzazate for valentine’s day?

**Harry:** NOOOOOO

**Theodore:** Please? Come suffer with me

**Harry:** What a glowing recommendation.

**Harry:** I actually can’t I have contract negotiations with Alina

**Theodore:** Do they want her to go on tour?

**Harry:** Of course

**Theodore:** Forget me. SHRED THEM

**Harry:** Lmao I’ll work on it.

 

**Spanish Radio Interview with Maverick**

**Joaquin:** Did you know you won another Brit?

**Maverick:** When was that? Yesterday? What did I win? I’m sure its in an email somewhere, and I know I was nominated but I’ve been running around the desert for two months you know?

**Joaquin:** British Single of the Year and British Video for ‘The Other Woman’

**Maverick:** Did that qualify? Is it because I’m British? The rules for the Brit awards are honestly so hazy that half the time I don’t even know what’s been nominated until someone’s telling me. It’s an honor, but really, it’s Elena and Alina’s honor. This was _their_ song. I just composed it.

**Joaquin:** And how’s Morocco?

**Maverick:** I just think people like to hear this now: it’s hot!

 

**Ember Caraleigh (@EmberCara)**

Big news for all my fans today! Check out my interview with Access Hollywood today for the biggest announcement of my life #sonervous #herewego

* * *

“They gave me an internship,” Violet said excitedly, kicking her legs against the floor of the car and stifling a squeal.

She looked a lot better than she had two months ago. The outpatient clinic, addiction counseling sessions, and move to living with Samantha and his father had done her a lot of good. She’d filled out some, skin a healthy tone, and hair back to being glossy dark brown rather than the lackluster shade it had been before. Gordon and Roger came to visit her every weekend, fostering a surprising friendship between Roger and Jonathon leaving Lindsay the only one unable to adjust.

Harry glanced over at his sister with a half smile and a roll of his eyes, “Where do I turn?”

“Left on…Rosslyn Hill,” Violet said, reading the directions off the screen. She turned around to check on Attila, sprawled across the backseat and whining incessantly in the backseat.

“This is the internship for entry requirements in the Royal Veterinary College?”

“It is,” Violet stated happily, squealing a little beneath her voice. “I need two weeks work experience in a veterinary practice and two weeks in a variety of different animal environments including home.”

Harry slanted her a side-eyed glance. “Is that why you’ve been stealing my dog?”

“I love Attila. Why wouldn’t I want to steal him?” Violet said grinning before pointing her finger. “Take a right on Belsize Avenue. And another right on Belsize Terrace.”

“What do you need? Three A-levels for the RVC?”

“Biology, Chemistry, and an elective third. I’m taking mathematics.”

Harry whistled. A-Levels. It had been a long time since he’d been in school and even longer since he’d been in sixth form college. He’d always been a good student, but A-Levels had been a special kind of hellacious. And that had been without transferring schools in the middle of his final year.

“You think you’ll be able to…”

“God, you sound like Mum,” Violet said with an eye roll. She pointed her finger the substantial vet clinic that Harry could see clearly from here. He pulled into the parking lot of Vet Village with its wooden exterior and brick walk-in. “I’ll be able to. Josie’s been helping me with some of my exam preparations. Don too. It’s been a hard transition, but I needed it. It’s been okay.”

Looking over at her, Harry sighed and reached over to tug her ponytail. She scoffed and swatted away his hand before yanking on the door latch. She shivered and pulled her coat tighter around her while Harry laughed under his breath.

When he opened the backdoor, Attila hopped out of the backseat, tail wagging and tonguing lolling out of his mouth. Like nothing had ever happened. Bringing Attila all the way to the vet’s office might have been an overreaction, but Harry also didn’t think it was normal for feral cats to lunge at a dog’s face from a bush. God forbid the animal had rabies. If his dog died of rabies, Harry would lose his mind. Against all odds, he’d grown attached to the canine. More so than he’d fully imagined possible.

Violet ran her finger lightly over Attila’s ear before opening the door for Harry to let the dog into the clinic.

For as big a clinic as it was, things were relatively quiet. An elderly woman had her Persian half dragged out of its carrier to scratch beneath its chin. A little boy sat on the tiled floor being licked on the face by a tiny Pekingese while his mother held the leash and watched them with amusement, phone held to her ear. A man walked out of the back holding a massive English Bulldog in his arms while shaking hands with a woman in scrubs.

The receptionist smiled at them while Attila jumped up to rest his paws on the counter, muzzle atop his paws to stare at her plaintively tail wagging happily. The woman laughed and offered the dog a small treat that he accepted delicately from her fingers. Jumping back down, he chomped on it while Violet stroked a hand along his spine.

“What are we here for today?” The girl asked with a bright smile before her eyes shifted to Violet. “You’re interning here next month, aren’t you? For entry requirements to the RVC?”

“Yeah, hi, I’m Violet,” she said brightly, waving.

“Holly,” the girl said in reply before returning her attention to Harry. “Apologies, you were saying.”

“I called a few minutes ago,” Harry said. “My dog, Attila, got attacked by a feral cat. It latched onto his face.”

“Right, of course,” Holly said, typing something into the computer. “Have you ever been to Village Vet before?”

“No,” Harry said.

“Okay, the vet will be right with you, but obviously, I need you to fill out some paperwork. And do you have pet insurance?”

Harry looked up from the clipboard of paperwork absolutely dumbfounded, “They have that?” Holly laughed and nodded, slipping Violet a brochure. He shook his head while Violet let the dog towards one of the waiting room chairs. Attila settling on the floors, eyes on the rambunctious Pekingese with a growl building his chest while Violet read through the brochure with a politely bemused look on her face. He handed Holly back the clipboard when he’d finished and went to sit beside his sister, snagging the brochure from her fingers over her protestations.

The elderly woman was called to the back first, calming her already relaxed cat—Mr. Cuddles. Then went the Pekingese known, apparently as The Doctor, right as a huge Irish Wolfhound trotted in the door between an elderly couple. It didn’t take long before a nurse came out and called for Attila. Violet hopping up first with Attila trotted along beside her while Harry followed more sedately down the hallway and into an exam room.

The nurse weighed the dog and took a preliminary medical history before informing them cheerfully that the vet would be in to see them momentarily.

And not a moment later, he did appear.

Dr. Elliott Rand was in his late forties with dark hair turning grey at the sides and with round spectacles that made him look like an aged Harry Potter. His smile was kind, and he took a moment to study Violet with recognition before moving back to his job. He knelt down in front of Attila who sat immediately and nuzzled against his hand.

“How old’s this guy?”

“He’s eight now,” Harry said.

“I hear we’ve got gunshot wounds and cats attacking.”

“He’s curious,” Harry informed the vet with an eye roll. “He’s a former police dog so he gets into everything now that he’s bored. Attila stuck his face into some bushes, and I hear this yelp. He comes out, and he has a feral cat stuck to his face. Violet had to throw a rock at it to get it off. I didn’t see any blood or anything, but I’d absolutely lose it if he got rabies or something.”

“Okay,” Dr. Rand said, shooting a quick glance at Violet. He crooked an eyebrow and asked, “You’re interning here next month. Applying to the RVC. Did you look at him?”

Violet smiled a little and nodded her head. “I didn’t see any blood, and there’s no bite marks.”

“I don’t see any either,” Dr. Rand stated nodding his head. “He flew in from the US last year? So he’s had a rabies shot for his pet passport, and since he’d a former police dog he probably had the initial vaccine between four to six months as well as the booster a year later. As far as rabies go, the shots last three years, so we don’t have to worry about rabies.”

“That’s a huge relief,” Harry said.

“I told you,” Violet smiled, nudging him lightly in the side.

Dr. Rand smiled at the two of them and sat back on his heels, stroking a hand over Attila’s fur while the dog dropped to the floor and rolled over to show his belly. “What we would need to worry about is infection if the cat’s claws broke skin. What will happen is the infection will bubble beneath skin so you’ll find bumps on his skin where the claws broke through. So, we’ll keep an eye on that. I’ll check his eyes in case the cat scratched that but otherwise, I don’t see any sign of serious damage.”

Harry nodded while the vet eyed the brochure in his hands.

“Pet insurance?”

Grimacing, Harry shrugged, “I don’t know. It’s not technically my dog.”

Dr. Rand crooked an eyebrow and threw a look towards Violet.

“His boyfriend’s.”

“Okay,” Dr. Rand said as a nurse came into the room with the equipment for a Fluorescein Stain Test.

He waved Violet over to help calm the dog and watch him administer the test, talking her through the procedurals. The nurse commented on how well behaved the dog was throughout the test, but Harry wasn’t entirely surprised. He’d had both dogs and cats throughout his life, but Attila was easily the best-behaved animal he’d ever had. The worst had been his mum’s French Bulldog, Amelie, who used to bite his toes while he slept. The little cretin had put him off dogs for years.

Giving the dog a conditionally clean bill of health, Dr. Rand walked them out to the front, chatting with _Violet_ about checking Attila daily for bumps on the head beneath his skin.

As Harry handed over his credit card, a woman rushed into the clinic with a mewling pet carrier that she set on the counter with disbelief on her face.

“What happened, Grace?” Dr. Rand said in a teasing tone.

“I…I…nothing, you know? It tried climbing the fence. And it fell. I couldn’t just leave the other one behind, you know?” Grace inquired sounding absolutely frazzled.

Harry paused to peer into the carrier at the tiny black face with jade green eyes peering out at him. It mewled and pressed its paw against the door of the carrier. He laughed a little while Dr. Rand turned the carrier to him and pulled out a large ball of black fluff that squirmed in his hands, claws out, tail twitching, and trying to bite at his hands. Dr. Rand held the cat into the air while a second head poked out of the carrier.

He tilted his head to study the second kitten while everyone else watched the first.

On the ground, Attila whined, eyes on the tortoiseshell colored cat as she peered down at the ground below and jumped without a second thought. She landed on Attila’s rump, and he growled prompting eyes to turn on him. Grace yelped a little as Attila swung around to grab the cat by the back of its neck, plopping it down between his paws to groom the kitten into quieting its mewls. Grace released a shaky breath while Dr. Rand cradled the black kitten in his arms, eyebrows raised.

“He likes her,” Dr. Rand remarked. “That’s adorable.”

“And Blackwell?”

“He’s fine. Nothing beyond the usual,” Dr. Rand assured her. “Still haven’t found a home for them?”

Grace sighed while Dr. Rand set the black cat down on the counter, watching it crawl over to Harry. He glanced down at the kitten as it climbed its front paws up along his sweater and leapt up to sit on his shoulder, perching there and nuzzling its head against Harry’s cheek. Attila looked up at them before returning his attention to the kitten roosting between his front paws.

“They have behavioral issues. They’re too mouthy. And they play too rough. And they climb everything. And there’s _two_ of them,” Grace said, exasperated.

“What wrong with them?” Harry asked absently, reaching up to scratch the kitten beneath the chin. He accepted his credit card back from the receptionist, tucking it away in his wallet and returning it to his back pocket while they looked at him askance.

Grace blinked at him surprise while Dr. Rand raised his eyebrows. “They, uh, they were rescued from this ill-reputable breeder. Their whole litter was infection with panleukopenia. It’s this disease kittens get that wipe out whole litters. Most cats die, they didn’t. But they’re not from the same litter. They met at our shelter, at the Scratching Post, and they bonded. But they play too rough because all their littermates died, and they have some neurological disorders. They’re Maine Coons. Seven months,” Grace reported.

Harry nodded and bent down to accept the second kitten when Attila brought it to him, holding it like a mother cat would by the back of the neck.

“Do you live in a flat?” Grace asked pointedly.

Reading between the lines, Harry sighed, “I live with my boyfriend. In a house. That he owns.”

“So…you could take two cats?”

“Theoretically,” Harry drawled.

“The dog likes them,” Violet pointed out with a smile.

“So _you_ want cats,” Harry told her with a fierce glare.

Violet held her hands up. “I can’t get cats. I’m going to uni in October. That wouldn’t be fair.”

“Theoretically,” Harry drawled, turning towards Grace who smiled hopefully, “what would I have to do if I adopted them?”

Grace squealed happily. “I would need to do a home visit. And I am available with all their paperwork right here. Look at that. If you’re available.”

Harry sighed and nodded his head. He looked down at Attila. “The shit you get me into.”

“This is fantastic. I have to call Christie! Should I follow you to yours? Christie wants to meet us there. Sorry, we’ve been trying to home these two for ages,” Grace said happily.

Harry nodded and loaded the cats back into the carrier one by one.

“You and Attila, love,” Harry told his sister, shaking his head. Though he couldn’t quite deny how much he adored the two little Maine Coons. It had been years since he’d owned a cat. His parents had had one shortly before their divorce who had been confiscated by their mother and never seen again. He preferred them over dogs, most assuredly, but it still wasn’t something he felt certain off. Bringing another animal into his and Theodore’s already complicated lives. If he broke up, he’d be taking the cats, but if Attila got attached to them, what then?

It was far too late to turn back now.

Grace followed along behind him until they reached the house where her colleague was already parked on the street outside with a file folder tucked beneath her arm and a pleasantly hopeful smile on her face. Harry pulled into the garage, letting Violet take the dog inside while he met them out front to lead them inside.

Neither of them commented on the pictures hanging up on the walls, though Harry could see them exchanging raised eyebrows.

Attila lay on the ground in front of the cage, scooting closer every time one of the cats cried and nosing at the door.

“Adorable,” Violet commented.

Harry waved her off as he sat down with the two women.

“There’s nothing here that makes me unwilling to give you the cats. No small children. The dog clearly likes them. Are you away from home often?” The older woman, Christie, asked him.

“Sometimes, but my sister, Violet, lives around here. She’s applying at the RVC so I have petsitters that come by for the dog when we’re away. When _I’m_ away,” Harry corrected, stealing an awkward glance at the photographs on the wall, one had been added from his and Theodore’s camel ride in Morocco.

His phone rang abruptly, drawing his attention, but he shut it off quickly, frowning at Rosie’s name on the screen.

“And you’re prepared for their…behavior challenges?” Christie offered delicately.

Harry shrugged, “It’s fine. Aside from Attila there’s not a single person in my life that doesn’t have behavioral challenges.”

“Hey!” Violet scolded from where she stood in the kitchen making what looked like a cheese toastie.

“You got banished to London.”

“I banished myself!”

“Same difference,” Harry teased with a laugh, frowning when his phone went off again. “What the hell?” He said beneath his breath, apologizing to the two women and side-eyeing his sister when _her_ phone pinged. She popped some cheese into her mouth before her eyebrows furrowed, raising the phone to face like that would change the information there.

“Well, the adoption fee is £70 per cat…” Grace trailed off, laying the paperwork across the coffee table.

Keeping one eye on his sister, Harry paid the fees and signed the papers. There was something about a check-in visit within three months and an assurance that he’d get all of their booster shots taken care of. By the time he hustled them out the door, Harry was exhausted and the owner of two kittens that Attila was still trying to reach through the door of the carrier. He picked the carrier up and set it on the couch, popping open the door and putting his hands on his hips.

Before he could ask Violet what was going on, his phone was ringing, and Violet swept into the room, grabbing the remote and turning on the television.

He frowned at her.

“Hello?”

“Have you seen it?” Rosie asked without preamble, Benji in the background yelling something about tact.

“Seen…?” Harry was about to ask what when his eyes landed on the entertainment channel playing on screen. His vision burred, then turned red as he hung up on Rosie and redialed another number.

“Harry…” Violet started uncertainly.

He shook his head, hanging up when he went to voicemail and dialed again.

“You don’t know…”

By the third time, he received an answer, waving her off.

“Is it true?”

Theodore was silent for a minute before he laughed uncomfortably. “Is what true? I’m literally still on set. What happened?”

“Ember Caraleigh is on Access Hollywood saying you knocked her up after the AMAs. Is it true? Because I couldn’t get in contact with you until the next morning and no one had any idea where you were? I sat here and gave you benefit of the doubt. Is it true?”

“I…I…I don’t…” Theodore trailed off and released a shaky breath before admitting quietly, “I don’t know. I don’t remember anything about that night. I woke up alone but that doesn’t mean anything. Harry!”

He hung up the phone and tossed it into the couch. Violet hesitated where she stood watching him warily. His eyes fell on the picture of them in Morocco, and he grabbed it off the wall, lobbing it across the room. Attila leapt to his feet with a yelp while Harry tried to breath through his anger, and his panic, and his feeling like the entire world was falling down around him."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case anyone actually wants to go to the RVC, those are the actual (British) requirements.
> 
> My dog did actually get attacked by a cat like this. He was fine but my mother will forever hold a grudge.
> 
> Surprise! I'm just so happy to be dropping bombs left, right, center.


	33. "Something's Gotta Give" by Camila Cabello

**Text message from Theodore**

**Theodore:** Harry please answer the phone

**Theodore:** Violet says you’re home

**Theodore:** Harry please I’m sorry

**Theodore:** I need you, and I can’t come after you from Morocco

**Theodore:** Please call me. You know how I am about things like this

**Harry:** If that was the line. You crossed it first.

 

To: teddymaverick96@gmail.com

Cc: lysa.thomas@godfreygroup.com

From: preston.duke@godfreygroup.com

Subject: RE: Ember Caraleigh

Yes, you’re on a media blackout until we have this situation handled. Don’t worry Lysa has a plan that management agrees with. We’ll try to get this under control as soon as possible. Just focus on work.

Preston

 

**RT by @Stephiexxx)**

**Dakota Crosby (@K9_Crosby)**

What the actual fuck?

 

**Text message from Rosie**

**Rosie:** Are you okay?

**Harry:** Unless the world implodes, no one needs me today

**Harry:** I’m cuddling with my cats and my dog and eating my weight in ice cream and pizza.

**Harry:** I’ll adult tomorrow

**Rosie:** You need me?

**Harry:** Bring pizza

 

**Hanna Banana (@HannaElizabeth)**

@MaverickOfficial umm omg what???? #maveratics

 

**Crazy Annie (@annie9090)**

@MaverickOfficial no. no. no. no. I mean @EmberCara #standards @maveratics

 

**Truly Beth (@truly4evr)**

@MaverickOfficial This is a joke right? It must be a joke? Doesn’t he have a girlfriend #maveratics

 

**Tumblr Post: 48maveraticslisa**

**Someone help me out**

I am a Twitter maveratic so we need some of our Tumblr fam to help us out. Doesn’t he have a gf? Did they break up? What is going on

#help #twittermaveratics #maveratics #maveraticsunite #embercaraleigh

**tallymovado91**

He so does have a gf. But…maybe not anymore

#maveratics #maveraticsunite #embercaraleigh

**hollyswoods**

Ember basically said they had a thing at the AMA afterparty, and she’s a little over three months along. That timeline makes sense. It’s late feb. AMAs were in late nov.

#idontlikethis #maveratics #maveraticsunite #embercaraleigh

**nukethedaisies**

If Maverick is having a baby we should be happy for him and congratulate him instead of try to prove it’s untrue

#maveratics #maveraticsunite #maverickbaby

**thistinydancer**

He’s 22!!!!!!!!!!!! And Ember is who? A nobody! A crazy nobody who got fired from Nickelodeon for being nutso and stays famous by being outrageous and slutty

#maveratics #maveraticsunite #embercaraleigh

**princesstiana44**

So now we’re slut shaming? Smh you should be ashamed of yourself. Women have to stick together and stop putting each other down. Maverick released a statement that he knows the baby’s his and isnt doing a dna test. So get over yourself

#crazyfangirls #maveratics #maveraticsunite #embercaraleigh #maverickbaby

**fightmefiona**

Now I know some shady shit’s up. No DNA test? Girl please. That’s some bullshit!

#fightme #maveraticsunite #maverickbaby #shady

* * *

“What is wrong with you?” Theodore demanded coldly, stalking into the conference room and crossing his arms over his chest. Rory hung back nervously to stand by Washington at the doors. Neither of them seemed surprised by his attitude nor by Preston’s total lack of reaction. They exchanged anxious looks that Theodore didn’t take personally. He was so far over the edge and so frazzled from his tepid communication with Harry that he had no more patience for playing games. “You told me you were going to take care of this not create more problems.”

“We took care of it,” Lysa promised where she sat at a table nibbling on ghoriba biscuit as she sipped on mint tea.

He wanted to smack it out of her hand.

Instead he raised his eyebrows and yanked out a chair to sit across from her, gripping the arms of his chair while he tilted his head to study her coolly.

“You took care of it?” He repeated before laughing bitterly “That’s some bullshit. Saying that I not only know this baby’s mine but that I’m not going to get a DNA test done is some absolute bullshit. That doesn’t happen in the real world. Not with celebrities. Not with sluts. And not with drug addicts. You’re insane.”

Lysa looked at him sharply. “Slut-shaming is beneath you.”

“Wrong,” Theodore corrected. “I’ll slut-shame any man woman or teenager that deserves the title they worked damn hard to earn. Just like I’ll sit here and say that I’m an addict. She’s a slut. I’m an addict. Political correctness won’t change that. So I’m getting a DNA test done. End of.”

Lysa looked up at Preston with a long-suffering sigh.

“This is great publicity.”

“Me being a moronic cheating whore is good publicity? For who?” Theodore asked, balking at the sentiment.

Most days, he understood why his publicity stunts were happening. Most days, he even agreed with the reasonings behind them. This time Theodore felt like he’d gotten played. Media blackout. He’d been silenced on social media so that he didn’t undermine the story before they managed to release a ‘statement from Maverick’ supporting all of Ember Caraleigh’s bullshit. And considering the calmness in the room, Theodore wondered if they’d known this was coming out beforehand.

“Did you tell her she could run with this story?” Theodore speculated, prompting a subtle but definitive shift from Preston and Lysa. He laughed and shook his head. “Are you kidding me right now?”

“How long did you thing you could hide a girlfriend before people started speculating?” Lysa challenged with a sip of her tea.

Fuck, Theodore wanted a hit, but since that had gotten him into this situation to begin with, it probably wasn’t the best idea.

“I don’t know how long did Taylor Swift manage before she confirmed she was dating Joe Alwyn?” Theodore returned coolly. “And didn’t Macklemore get _married_ and reproduce before he admitted he was in a relationship? I was thinking at least that long, but you’re paranoid so that’s fucked now.”

“This is a solid plan.” Lysa argued while shaking her head in disagreement. “This is what’s best for your brand.”

Theodore gaped at her in disbelief.

Before could speak, a disturbance at the door caused them all to turn. Washington tensed as the door was thrown open, and Harry stalked into the room in a gray three-piece suit and a pair of darkly tinted sunglass, wavy hair windswept and lips pressed together. Rushing in behind him was Rania, Lysa’s newest assistant. Theodore sat up straighter, gaze on Harry and eyes prickling with unshed tears. Avoiding him completely, Harry went to the window overlooking the desert beyond Ouarzazate, the harsh but beautiful desert landscape. He plucked off his sunglasses and tucked them into the pocket of his suit, glaring at Lysa while Rory and Washington exchanged twin looks of relief.

“I’m so sorry, ma’am, he insisted.”

“I did,” Harry cut her off firmly. “You can go.”

Rania hesitated before flinching under his glare and closing the door firmly behind her.

“What are you doing here?” Lysa asked through clenched teeth.

“I’m a crisis management publicist, and this is a crisis.”

“It’s under control,” Preston argued.

“That’s what you said last time,” Theodore spat. “Nothing got handled. You created a bigger fucking mess.”

Harry nodded his head and leaned against the windowsill, the skin under his eyes bruised and his green eyes darker than usual. Theodore willed him to glance at him, but Harry kept his gaze fixed firmly on Preston and Lysa. He supposed he should just be thankful Harry had shown up at all.

“You had no authorization to release such a ludicrous statement because you got paranoid that a tiny subset of Maverick’s fandom speculated that he was dating a man. You don’t think I was watching it? You think you slapped the LGBT community within that fandom into silence? Because now the whole fandom is at war with half thinking this some elaborate publicity stunt and the other half thinking that Maverick’s irresponsible for fucking some psychotic Nickelodeon star _and_ not bothering to get a paternity test done to be sure. That’s ridiculous.”

Lysa tilted her head at Harry, taking a delicate sip of her tea.

Harry’s eyes lit with fury.

Theodore didn’t know whether to glare at Lysa and Preston or continue to stare at Harry hoping for an acknowledgement he felt certain he wasn’t going to receive until he went home and forced one.

“Don’t you think you’re too personally invested in this?” Lysa returned like he was being ridiculous.

Harry nodded slowly and walked towards her. Carefully, he plucked the cup from her fingers only to hurl it against the wall opposite him. Theodore heart seemed to sink into his stomach at seeing the depth of how angry he was, how hurt he was. Harry put his hand on the table and leaned towards her.

“Don’t play with me, Lysa. I’m not Theodore. I’ll ruin you.”

Lysa tilted her head back to smile up at him. “ _You’ll_ ruin me? You slept with a client. Whether you were paid or not, he asked you to handle some of his publicity. That makes him a client. The Godfrey Group has clear rules on fraternization with clients that you violated. I take you to court, then what happens?”

“Take me to court,” Harry challenged her, wiping the smile from her face. “Then it becomes a public court case about PR fixer Harry Benton-Sterling fucking one of your clients. That name will be public record. And didn’t you make this mess to keep that from happening?” Lysa gritted her teeth while Harry nodded sagely. “You think you have me by the balls? You don’t. I am the best at what I do. You’ll ruin Maverick not me. Fuck with me. I’m in a mood. It would be fun.”

Theodore swallowed and wiped his eyes harshly, trying to keep himself from crying in front of Lysa and Preston.

“The Godfrey Group signed an agreement with Ember Caraleigh’s team not to pursue a paternity test,” Lysa confessed.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Theodore exploded, turning to Harry. “This can be fixed can’t it?”

“Washington,” Harry said, straightening without looking at Theodore. “Please remind your client that I am not speaking with him currently. That I know what he wants, and I can handle this without discussing it with him.”

Washington’s mouth popped open in shock, eyes darting to Rory who shook her head frantically for him to keep silent.

Theodore clenched his jaw. “I can hear you.”

Harry ignored him.

“I didn’t, and you had no right to promise that.” Harry told Lysa coolly. Preston opened his mouth to speak while Harry shook his head. “All of this is predicated upon the assurance that we believe Ember Caraleigh isn’t a big fat liar using Maverick for publicity, yes? On the belief that you can control rumors of homosexuality in an increasingly liberalized western world interested in racial and sexual representation amongst their peer group. I want a copy of that godforsaken contract faxed to my office within the next _hour_. I want contact information for Ember Caraleigh’s people. I want her OB/GYN’s information sent to me immediately. I want complete control of this shitstorm you created. And I want your heads on a platter, but I’ll wait for those. If I have to sue the Godfrey Group to get this done, that’s what I’ll do. Don’t for a second think this is going to die. You think I don’t know people in your company? I know the CEO, and you best believe he’ll be getting a personal email about this. How fucking dare you? This isn’t overstepping. This is borderline fraud. You had no right to make these decisions.”

“Aren’t you being a little oversensitive about this?” Lysa asked through pursed lips.

“Fucking yeah!” Harry shouted at her. “I found out my boyfriend cheated on me over television. He can’t tell me if this is possible. You didn’t bother to look. Everyone we know looks at me like I’m pathetic little puppy. I’m so far over the edge, and you gave me every reason to be up your ass about this. So fuck you. Take what I give you because you fucking earned it by being a goddamned moron. Did you think I was going to let this slide? Did you?”

Lysa swallowed and looked away.

Theodore felt tears prickling his eyes again, and he looked away sharply, raking his teeth over his bottom lip. Theodore needed answers. _Harry_ needed answers. And hard as he try, Theodore only had a very hazy memory of the entire party, and after his talk with Dido Lynn Darby and his fourth line of cocaine, his mind went absolutely blank.

Harry was the best thing that every happened to him. The only person who’d ever just been there for him unconditionally and without expectations, and Theodore could see he was halfway out the door. That being in Theodore’s vicinity right now was emotionally taxing and if Theodore had been in the house right now, Harry would already be gone. The thought that he’d go home to find Harry gone like he’d never been there…his chest to tightened with panic. This whole thing was his fault, and he wanted Harry to not leave.

He needed that.

And yet, when he’d thought Harry had done something even remotely similar he’d been three lines of cocaine and two cups of vodka in before he’d even considered the possibility that the whole situation had been overblown.

Clearing her throat uneasily, Lysa said, “We can liaise with you from here.”

“That’s unnecessary,” Harry cut her off smoothly. “Brandon will stay here and handle things for me. You’ve caused more than enough damage. I can’t trust you to handle this properly so you’re excused.”

“You’re not staying?” Theodore couldn’t help but ask, eyes on Harry as Lysa rose primly and ran her hands over her skirt like she hadn’t just been fired by someone ten years her junior who didn’t even technically work for Theodore or her company.

Harry wet his lips and didn’t answer, glare focused on Preston as he sat down.

“Harry,” Theodore insisted, hoarsely, leaning forward like that would force his attention to shift. It didn’t. Harry didn’t move at all…not his body and not his gaze. “Are you going to be gone when I get back to London? Because I can’t handle that. I need to know now.”

Laughing bitterly, Harry shook his head, eyes shifting up to the ceiling. “That would be fucking low blow, wouldn’t it? I’m not you.”

Theodore winced back like he’d been slapped, tears welling unbidden in his eyes. Nodding, Theodore whispered, “Because _that_ wasn’t a low blow.”

Harry snapped, turning to him with fury and a deep-seated hurt in every line of his body. His anger was worn wrapped around him like armor. His distrust utterly evident. And his desire to be anywhere that Theodore wasn’t plain on his face. Theodore winced again and looked away, wiping away his tears furiously. “Do you know what a low blow looks like? It looks like being told my boyfriend fucked some low rent, D-list whore by Access Hollywood, and then getting another kick to the chest when you can’t even tell me if that’s _true_. A low blow is having to drop my whole life and come here to save you after you stabbed me through the heart for cocaine and whiskey while I sat at home and worried about you! A low blow is giving you _three years_ to pull yourself together, and having you spend three years doing the exact same fucking thing that landed us here at all and then trying make me feel like I owed you something! Like your abandonment issues are more important than my absolute crippling fear of being cheated on! So fuck you.”

“Harry, I’m sorry!” Theodore exclaimed, voice cracking as a sob built in his throat, traitorous tears leaking from his eyes.

“Just stop,” Harry said coldly, looking away and shaking his head. “It’s been three years of chances and waiting and worrying. You’re obviously not sorry! Three years you could have changed this. Instead it’s been a three-year tightrope walk while you constantly chose cocaine and alcohol over me. So stop apologizing. I’m so tired of listening.”

Theodore let his forehead drop into his hands, trying to stifle his sobs at least for the moment.

He wasn’t wrong.

He’d told Violet that he was more scared of quitting than he was of Harry leaving. And he had been until he sat in the middle of a hurricane he’d created while Harry prepared to leave him. That reality he couldn’t seem to deal with.

Theodore had known he’d live if this very situation happened. They hadn’t needed to talk about Harry’s issue to know that Harry’s mother had done a number on his trust issues. He’d stretched himself to his limit to accommodate Theodore and his history into Harry’s life. That Harry had loved him enough to risk being cheated on, and that his inability to form long-term relationships prior to this had been his fear that someone he loved would do what his mother had done to his father. Theodore was not the only one with abandonment issues.

At the same time, part of Theodore had thought Harry wouldn’t leave him.

With Theodore’s refusal to change, this whole thing had been inevitable. Yet faced with the reality of his decisions, Theodore didn’t know how to deal. He wanted to drown himself in cocaine and beer until he couldn’t see straight let alone think. That’s what he wanted to do, but that’s what he’d always done. And maybe it was time to try and do something else.

“Here’s how this is going to work,” Harry said slowly, waving Washington and Rory over to the table. “While Brandon is here, he is absolutely in charge. You can’t be trusted either,” Harry told Preston plainly.

“Harry,” Preston started to argue.

“Don’t even start with me,” Harry said slowly, ending Preston’s argument before it could gain traction. “Preston, you know me. And you went ahead and were complicit in this little scheme anyway. I understand panic. That’s what managers and publicists are for. I don’t understand stupidity, but then I guess that’s what PR fixers are for, hmm?” Preston colored but didn’t dare to speak. “Just so we’re clear: Lysa Thomas is finished. I’ll ruin her. When I call Jesse Godfrey, and tell him _exactly_ what happened, there will be nowhere on earth far enough for Lysa Thomas to run. She made this gamble thinking there was nothing I could do about it. _I_ don’t gamble. I win. Are we clear?”

Slowly, Preston nodded.

“Stay in your lane. You handle press junkets and interviews for music and movies and all that shit I can’t be bothered with unless you do it wrong. So stop making decisions about a personal life that is not your concern.” Preston swallowed hard and nodded cautiously. Harry sighed and turned to Washington and Rory who were the only people in the room who seemed unsurprised and unconcerned by Harry’s mounting agitation. “He clearly can’t be trusted with his addictions. When I’m gone he can drown himself in alcohol and cocaine and sex with random strangers in hotel rooms. As long as I have to look at him, he’s never unattended. He doesn’t get to detox right now, he needs to be functional. He gets a fix every other day in his hotel room after he finishes on set supervised by both of you. No parties. No drinking with cast unless he’s being watched. We’re done.”

Washington and Rory exchanged a quick glance and looked at Theodore who didn’t even bother to argue.

They nodded wordlessly.

Harry stood and nodded at them, not once looking at Theodore. “I have to go catch my flight.”

“Harry,” Theodore said in disbelief, catching his wrist.

Harry fell still and stiffened under the touch. A pang of hurt went through Theodore. “Do not touch me.”

Theodore released him like he’d been burned. Harry rolled back his shoulders and walked to the door, closing it behind him. Legs giving out, Theodore collapsed into his seat. No one spoke for a moment.

Rory knelt down beside him and rested a hand on his arm. “Theodore? Are you okay?”

His face twisted, and he broke down in sobs.

“I ruined everything,” Theodore told her. Rory wrapped her arms around him and allowed him to cry into her shoulder, but no one disputed his statement.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this is where I leave you at the start of the weekend.


	34. "Crawl Outta Love" Illenium ft. Annika Wells

To: lysa.thomas@godfreygroup.com

Cc: preston.duke@godfreygroup.com

From: jesse.godfrey@godfreygroup.com

Subject: Harry Benton Sterling

Do you know what I don’t like? I don’t like getting phone calls from the best PR fixer in the business about my employees overstepping professional boundaries and being complicit in fraud. And it is fraud when you give client approval on court documents that THE CLIENT DIDN’T APPROVE. Why isn’t that clear to you? You’re a very promising publicist, Lysa, for all the same reason I’ve tried so hard to hire Harry all these years. However, what Harry does is bend the rules. He doesn’t break them. And he doesn’t break them with the biggest client we have who’s vulnerable, troubled, and screwing the most reputable and well-liked fixers in the industry. Are you kidding me? Obviously you’re fired. And since I have to pay Harry Benton-Sterling out the nose to handle this situation that you helped create, it’s coming out of your final paycheck.

Best,

Jesse Godfrey

CEO, The Godfrey Group

 

**Text message from Rosie**

**Rosie:** Um…our accountant wants to know if you saw Jesse Godfrey murder someone

**Rosie:** This is a lot of money.

**Harry:** Start a file for Maverick.

**Rosie:** Ur accepting your ex bf as a client? Seriously?

**Harry:** Do not fucking start right now.

**Harry:** Call Salem and tell him I’m going to him.

**Rosie:** I want to hire Shannon Gallagher. Did you review her files?

**Harry:** I trust your judgement. Do it if you want to.

 

**YouTube Channel, Real Talk Daily: The Mavember Baby**

**Mckinley:** Everyone’s talking about this Mavember Baby thing.

**Daryl:** Everyone except Maverick.

**Mckinley:** I, yeah, which is weird, right? Maverick’s still filming in Morocco so it’s not totally shocking he’s been out of touch, but he’s also been off Instagram and Twitter, which has his fans very concerned. Ember Caraleigh announced one week ago that she was pregnant and the baby was Maverick’s from a hookup after the AMAs. Now, his team released a statement that he was aware and felt confident the baby was his so he wasn’t going to pursue a paternity test. Since then: nothing.

**Daryl:** I find it bizarre that he wouldn’t request a paternity test. He has a girlfriend that isn’t Ember Caraleigh. He confirmed through a press release to a one-night stand with a pretty well established…I mean, Ember has a…reputation.

**Mckinley:** Exactly. I think there’s something more going on here. Since then his fans found out his publicist had been fired not only by Maverick but also by her company, The Godfrey Group, which also handles Maverick’s PR, so I think this is a lot bigger than just a pregnancy. I think very soon something going to happen. And I don’t think it’s going to Maverick embracing fatherhood.

**Daryl:** Calling it now—that’s not his baby. It’s just not.

* * *

“You look like shit.”

Salem reported this succinctly as he dropped to sit cross-legged across from Harry across the booth of the dimly lit Denny’s in the north of South Dakota’s Rapid City. Somehow Harry had expected Salem to look different living into Midwestern seclusion. And, admittedly, he was wearing flannel…over a black Henley and a pair of Hot Topic black suspender skinny jeans paired with _Adventure Time_ Vans. His purple hair was half-hidden beneath a beanie, and he smiled cheerfully at the waitress as she approached with enough familiarity that they must know each other.

“Reina,” Salem drawled with a grin, “you, on the other hand, look ravishing today.”

“Don’t start with me. You know I found out Alejandro was doing when he was working the ‘late shift’ down at the mechanic’s shop? Having an ongoing affair with Demi from the shitty Mexican restaurant next door. _And_ she’s knocked up. _And_ that _pendejo_ had the audacity to ask me to stay with him. _Me_ , like I can’t do better,” Reina snapped.

Salem bit his bottom lip and nodded solemnly, looking entirely unsurprised by this development.

Harry popped a piece of bacon in his mouth, chasing it down with a swig of his chocolate milkshake. “I hear you. My boyfriend may or may not have knocked up some slut at a party while I was at home trusting him.”

Reina whistled and put her hands on her hips. “May or may not?”

“He was high.”

“I would have slapped that son of bitch so hard he couldn’t see for a week.”

“Wow,” Salem said with an uncomfortable laugh. “This escalated quickly.”

“Is your boyfriend fucking someone other than you?” Reina challenged, eyebrows raised, lips pursed, and hands on her hips.

Salem hesitated a moment before admitting. “That would be difficult at the moment.”

Reina nodded and yanked the menu from his hands. “Then don’t talk about shit you don’t understand. Country fried steak and eggs: fried. No milkshake for you. You get coffee like a peasant.”

Mouth ajar, Salem watched her walk away with confusion while Harry nodded and brought a forkful of eggs to his lips. Slowly, he turned to Harry and narrowed his eyes. “What just happened? Did you steal my favorite waitress?”

“We bonded,” Harry said curtly, shrugging. “Country fried steak? I forget sometimes you were raised a southerner.”

“Um-hm,” Salem said, grinning and pulling his laptop out of his bag. “Country friend steak. Chicken and waffles. Mac and cheese. Pulled pork. Even biscuits and gravy. The only thing I could never quite figure out was this bizarre attraction to grits.” Frowning, Salem gestured to Harry’s ‘I’m emotionally distressed’ All-American Slam consisted of bacon, sausage, scrambled eggs, hashed browns, and toast. A triple whammy of trans fat, fried comfort food that Harry loved but tried to indulge in sparingly. “Aren’t you glad I picked Denny’s?”

Harry rolled his eyes and gnawed on another piece of bacon, bored of his self-satisfied attitude.

“I thought to myself: what does a culinarily-repressed Brit really need in America? Then it hit me: Denny’s.”

Again, Harry rolled his eyes and continued to munch on his lunch.

Salem’s expression softened, and he looked up from his computer screen with pity that made Harry uncomfortable. He didn’t need pity. He needed proof. He needed to handle this situation. Then, he needed to run away so he could lick his wounds. Just when he thought he had a handle of his emotions, Harry had to fly to Morocco to dress down Preston and get Lysa fired. And look his cheating, drug addicted, moronic boyfriend—ex-boyfriend—in the face while Theodore begged him not to just leave.

The whole situation was exhausting.

And Irial’s wedding was coming up soon leaving Harry on an island of misery in a sea of excitement. Lying to everyone except a tiny and select group of people had taken a toll on him and pretending not to be affected by the entire situation only set him on a shorter fuse. Theodore’s daily phone calls made him want to tear his own hair out and wash his hands of the situation entirely. Let Theodore drown in the mess he’d made.

But hurt as he was, exhausted as he was, _angry_ as he was, Harry loved Theodore too much to abandon him in the middle of this mess.

“How are you actually?” Salem asked without looking up from his computer screen.

“How would you be?”

Salem shrugged his shoulders. “I’ve cheated before—with Chaz, actually. And I’ve been cheated on.” He paused in typing to sigh and look at Harry thoughtfully. “But if Bailey cheated on me, I’d probably kill everyone involved and go to jail explaining how justified my actions were. And if he knocked someone up, they’d never find his body.”

“I’m feeling about that good,” Harry agreed evenly. Salem shrugged like that made sense. “It’s not like I didn’t expect this, but…I didn’t expect this. It’s hard to trust him when he’s sober and distrust him when he’s high, because I feel like he’s high all the time. He’s not. But he’s high enough that I’m at Level 700 of distrust every time he’s out of my sight. I can’t talk to him. I can’t look at him. I want to kill him. Publicly and like Ancient Roman, how much can I make this hurt style.”

“What if it’s not his baby?” Salem inquired, fingers moving over the keyboard quickly. “What hotel? The Peninsula Beverly Hills?”

“Yeah,” Harry said, running a hand through his hair tiredly while Reina set Salem’s plate and coffee at the edge of the table. “I don’t suppose you have alcohol?”

“Aside from the Tequila in my purse? And Doug’s flask of whiskey? No, but giving customer’s alcohol is against company policy.” Reina said patting him on the shoulder as she walked away.

“Day?”

“November 18th. Sometime between eleven and midnight the party began.”

“Yeah, I found it,” Salem said under his breath.

Harry raised his eyebrows. “Did you hack their system?”

“Nah,” Salem said with a half-smile. “I sent them an email with your credentials asking for permission to view the footage when Rosie called me yesterday. They gave me a backdoor key good for forty-eight hours to check out the footage, but I didn’t want to surprise you anymore than I had to. Figured we could be surprised/horrified/disgusted together, you know?”

“Such a good friend,” Harry deadpanned. Salem’s tongue poked out of the corner of his mouth as he grinned.

“I am, though. Look I didn’t even have you go to Rosebud. Not that I’m sure Rapid City hasn’t been painful for you.”

Harry scowled. “It hasn’t been for you?”

Salem paused to look up at him skeptically, cocking his head. “Harry, I grew up in Georgia. Besides, I’m not staying in Rosebud proper. I’m staying on Bailey’s grandparent’s ranch where there’s plenty of work, and drive Bailey into the city a couple times a week for his physical therapy. I mean, it’s not like I’m swimming in boring downtime. And you didn’t have to come here. I could do this remotely.”

Sighing, Harry nodded.

“I couldn’t stay in the house,” he confessed.

Pausing, Salem looked up at him before sighing and shaking his head. “Does Theodore know you’ve basically divorced him?”

“The baby, cheating, and avoidance are probably good hints,” Harry said sourly.

Salem didn’t respond, and Harry hadn’t expected him to.

In all honesty, for all Harry’s hatred of Los Angeles at least there were things to do. Rapid City was too small a town for him. He had spent his whole life living in London with public transportation, walkable city streets, and plenty of things to do. Rapid City was definitely bigger than Rosebud, but it was so far out of Harry’s wheelhouse that he felt completely paralyzed by this small-town city lifestyle he’d been submerged in for barely a day. How Salem had managed to remain out here with Bailey for months boggled the mind, especially after Salem had lived in Boston and London.

Not that he’d had to go to Salem.

Harry could have had this taken care of remotely, but he wanted to be away from the house he shared with his cheating boyfriend. Coming back from Ouarzazate, Harry had abruptly understood Alina when she’d set all her boyfriend’s things on fire after returning to their shared house to pack. Looking at the life he’d built with Theodore against his better judgment had been angering and exhausting and humiliating and painful. He wanted to rip it up and burn it down to feel maybe an ounce of relief for their maelstrom of emotions inside him.

“Well, that’s interesting,” Salem said under his breath.

Harry looked up at him, swallowing his discomfort and emotions. Professional, detached, that’s what he needed to be right now not an emotional mess. “You found it.”

“Yes…I…did, but it’s, I mean, look,” Salem said laying the computer flat across the surface of the table. He pulled up the footage and rewound it back, playing it all the way through.

Harry’s eyebrows furrowed together in confusion, mind working as he considered the images. “You checked the timestamp? And made sure—”

“All night,” Salem assured him.

“That changes things,” Harry said, lips thinning out as he sat back in the booth. “I’m going to have to go to court.”

“Well, yeah, probably,” Salem said with a shrug. “I’ll send this to you.”

Harry nodded thoughtfully.

* * *

“Wow, I had no idea Connie was such a talent with the makeup until I saw your naked face,” said Nahla as she sat down at the table across from him. Washington stiffened and watched her carefully from across the room, prompting a sigh from Theodore who only nodded at her words and sipped his tea. Nahla glanced between the pair of them, eyebrows raising and reached out to rest her hand on top of his. “How you holding up?”

“Harry won’t take my phone calls.”

“Well if he’s still answering your text messages then you’re doing good all things considered.”

Theodore supposed she had a point. He rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger, head pounding from the headache that had been intruding on him for days now. Since Harry left, really. Since Theodore had last been able to get a full night’s sleep without waking up with nightmares or calling him in the middle of the night to have his phone calls be ignored. Rosie had told him to stop calling or she’d report him for harassment after the fifth time he’d called her instead of Harry since he got answers from her.

Now he talked to Dakota instead who had absolutely nothing kind to offer Theodore except that Harry had given him three years to make a change, and Theodore had done absolutely nothing. Three years, Dakota had informed him coolly, was far more time than Dakota would ever give anyone for anything. Because if people couldn’t change poor behavior in a year, then they had no intention of ever doing so.

Dakota had a point too, but at least Theodore’s phone calls got answered.

He was also talking to Harry who’d apparently gone to Rapid City, South Dakota without telling Theodore for one reason or another and had been completely silent about why. Preston likely knew, but whatever Harry had commanded made Preston way too jittery to share that information with Theodore. Whatever he was doing, Theodore was just hurt that Harry had only not told him, but that he’d apparently specifically instructed other people not to tell him he’d flown out of the country.

What was he doing in fucking South Dakota?

Which was irrational, especially consider what Theodore had done, but didn’t make him calm anymore.

“I don’t remember,” Theodore told Nahla. “What happened. I don’t remember.”

“That’s fucked up, Mav,” Nahla said without an ounce of remorse.

Tough love appeared to be the current name of the game, not that Theodore was really surprised. People had been trying easier ways for years, which had (luckily) ended with him screwing some random struggling actress rather than being hospitalized from an overdose. That, he knew, came from Harry’s careful monitoring of Theodore’s intake, and his doctor prescribed instructions for Rory and Washington to keep him alive rather than any ability to handle his addiction on Theodore’s part.

Harry had literally kept Theodore alive, and Theodore had literally screwed him over.

“He’s gonna leave me,” Theodore told her.

Nahla popped one of his cookies into her mouth without bothering to say anything. Nothing needed to be said. Everyone who even suspected about him and Harry knew that Theodore’s relationship was in shambles. That the only reason he hadn’t been formally dumped yet was because he was in Morocco instead of in London dealing with the relationship he’d ruined.

“I thought that I could handle this,” Theodore said with tears in his eyes. “But I don’t what I’m doing. And I don’t know how to handle this. I don’t think I ever really believed he’d leave, you know?   How fucked up is that? I mean no matter how bad things were before, he never left. I didn’t actually think he’d do it.”

“Yes, you did,” Nahla informed him with a shrug. “You just didn’t care enough. You were selfish.”

Theodore looked up at her.

Nahla laughed bitterly and shook her head. “You know, Drew…Drew was not always what he is now. When we met, it was, God, it was the nineties. The world was coming off the high of the seventies and the crash of the eighties, and Drew wanted to relive those glory days. I mean he was in his twenties. _Early_ twenties, but he loved those eighties hairbands and drugs too. Not the cannabis from the seventies. The heroin and the cocaine. And I was young and in love and so, so stupid.”

Theodore was silent for a moment before asking hesitantly, “What happened?”

“What _didn’t_ happen?” Nahla returned fiercely, obviously not quite over those years. “I stayed with him through the affairs and the overdoses and the abuse from the paranoia and vomiting in front of our daughter on Christmas.” A slow smile spread across her face as she looked up at Theodore. “That’s what love is, right?”

“You stayed with him?”

“God no,” Nahla answered viciously. “The minute his stuck a needle in his arm while babysitting our daughter I was out the door. He could do what he did to me, but I was not going to allow our baby to grow up around that. He lasted a month before he’d knocked up some eighteen-year-old model in the back of a club. Then, they both OD’d together, and I didn’t even go see him in the hospital. He begged for me to let him see Shayna, and I wouldn’t. He was a mess, and she was my baby. She deserved better. So I quit acting and worked backstage, and Drew cleaned himself up. But it was four years before he found me again. Sober and nervous, asked me if I could see Shayna, and I told him to bring me a drug test. And he did.”

Theodore gaped at her for a minute while she stole another cookie, trying her hardest to appear unaffected by the conversation. But she was, and that much was evident. Everything about this conversation was taking a toll on her.

“I can’t believe you got back with him,” Theodore admitted.

“Me either,” Nahla confessed before tapping her half eaten cookie on the rim of the plate. “The point is people like Harry and me, we love deeply enough that we want to be loved enough that we’re worth changing for. And people like you and Drew, you love selfishly enough to want people like us to accept you as you are, warts and all. What you don’t realize is that we did. You took advantage, because loving someone despite their faults is different than loving someone who sees their faults and doesn’t want to be better. I would have stuck with Drew through rehab and through those tenuous first months of sobriety and through falling off the wagon and climbing back on. But I was not going to be with someone who took the love I gave them and refused to pay it back.”

Theodore considered that for a moment and stared at her. “I have to change.” Nahla nodded and he forced himself to ask. “What if I change and he still doesn’t want me?”

“Then he doesn’t want you,” Nahla shrugged dismissively. “What he gets that you don’t is that it’s not about him wanting you, him loving you. It’s about you loving you. It’s about loving you enough to save yourself.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love Denny's. Everyone should try Dennys and Friendlys, but I go to Denny's for food and Friendly's for ice cream. True story.


	35. "Love Back On" by Summer Was Fun ft. Emelie Cyreus

**Irish Rose (@rosieposie)**

Think @DorianII had on too many Valium #HesTooCalm #ImFreakingOut

 

**Harry Benton-Sterling (@HaroldBSterling)**

@rosieposie relax, he's ready #CrisialWedding #IrialDorian #LetHimBe

 

**Text message from Dakota**

**Dakota:** My sister tells me ur at the wedding of the century

**Dakota:** How are things?

**Harry:** I’m faking happiness

**Harry:** Surrounded by happiness & still want to murder Theodore

**Harry:** Other than that I’m doing fine.

**Dakota:** Oh well that’s good.

 

**Irish Rose (@rosieposie)**

@HaroldBSterling just be drinking and drinking and DRINKING

 

To: teddymaverick96@gmail.com; preston.duke@godfreygroup.com; bradongreer@sterlingandireland.com

From: haroldbsterling@sterlingandireland.com

Subject: On Air with Kells and Deet

We’re ready to start. With Iri and Cris’s wedding over, any moves we make won’t be overshadowed by B4 wedding news. So, I have very specific rules about what you can and cannot say while on the air with Kells and Deet. This is going to start a very specific public narrative and PR run that will culminate with us wrapping up this whole situation. We’ll need to talk details on your return to London, but that can wait.

Harry Benton-Sterling

 

**On Air with Kells and Deets**

**Kells:** Are you nervous? I mean you must be. You’re very young. We were all so surprised to hear you were a father.

**Maverick:** Yeah? Me too.

**Deet:** You didn’t know?

**Maverick:** I was totally blindsided. I mean I was filming in Morocco so that’s already an eight-hour time difference, and I was literally on set. And I get this call from my girlfriend demanding to know if this is true. And I had absolutely no idea what she was talking about.

**Deet:** I forgot you had a girlfriend! I imagine that this news must have really put a damper on—what?—a three year relationship?

**Maverick:** What put a damper on things was my absolute uncertainty on how I could answer. I mean I vaguely remember seeing her and drinking with her, and her being all over me, which was completely inappropriate but I was so drunk that everything passed being out on the roof is an absolute blur.

**Kells:** So you don’t know what happened that night? You don’t remember?

**Maverick:** No I have no idea. I mean I’d like to know. This is a child’s life that we’re talking about here. And I know personally what it’s like to wonder about your biological parents. That’s not something I’d wish on anyone, and it’s really not something I intend to be party to.

* * *

Theodore didn’t want to admit he was afraid of going home. It was bad enough that Harry hadn’t sent him even a text acknowledging his flight information or what time he was expected to land. Oscar had picked him up outside the airport with a grim expression on his face that only darkened when Theodore couldn’t even manage a proper smile. He sank into the backseat, phone in hand, willing it to ring or chime with a call or a text or something acknowledging that he was here and thinking enough of Harry’s feelings that he’d informed him.

Despite the fact that everyone else likely already had.

Theodore knew that Harry had likely arranged the flight, had his people book the tickets, and tracked the flight from Casablanca to London. He just hadn’t bothered to give Theodore even a moment’s regard or acknowledgment. It drove him a little bit insane even as he understood the tactic. Not a hint of what he was coming home to, if he was coming home to anyone at all or if he’d walk inside to a stranger’s domicile like they hadn’t ever made a life there together. He didn’t know if Harry would be there or be out, if there was anything in the fridge to eat or if he’d have to order takeaway.

Harry was just enough of a sadist and reactionary for this situation to be entirely on purpose, reverse psychology to help Theodore understand exactly how Harry felt every time he and his drug addiction left the house and the city and the country never knowing exactly what he would be coming back to. How Harry lived in this sort of suspended uncertainly was maddening. Theodore wanted to call obsessively until Harry either picked up or shut his phone off.

He knew better than that though. Harry was vindictive enough that if Theodore forced him into a corner in the present circumstances, he wouldn’t like the result. Harry had promised he wouldn’t just move out without a word, that he wouldn’t just leave and disappear. Theodore would just have to trust him, but it was hard to trust Harry when Theodore had been the ones dictating the terms.

Or maybe he was just overthinking things.

“Are you going to be okay?” Oscar asked from the front seat as he pulled up to the curb outside the house.

Theodore peered outside the tinted windows at his house. Despite the darkening twilight, there wasn’t much light to be seen within. Something moved behind the curtain of the window, and a small face peered out at him and narrowed its eyes. Not Attila, he thought. Theodore frowned but calmed. Whether Harry was home or not if some small animal that was Attila was inside, then he hadn’t moved out.

“Yeah,” he forced out through clenched teeth. “I’ll be fine.”

“If you’re sure,” Oscar said like he wasn’t.

Forcing himself to nod, Theodore opened the door and stepped outside, tilting his head back to stare up at the gray sky, a light drizzle soaking through his clothes. Washington surprised him when Theodore turned and found him already standing beside the car with Theodore’s bag in his hands. A shaky smile slid across Theodore’s face as he offered a jerky nod, gripping his suitcase by the handle and pushing aside the front gate to wander up the house’s front door.

He half expected the locks to have been changed, but of course he key slid in easily, turning without a hitch, and lock clicking as it unlocked. Washington leaned against the car, arms crossed over his chest while Oscar leaned across the console in the car, staring out at him through the open passenger’s side window. Theodore waved at them, nudging the door open and stepping inside the house.

He shivered as he shook off the cold, toeing off his boots to leave them beside the front door. Theodore parked his bags at the foot of the stairs, hanging his coat from the coatrack and pausing at the pair of Maine Coons peering at him curiously from a cat tree beside the window wedged between the wall and the chaise lounge. Nails clicked against the hardwoods as Attila appeared from the staircase to barrel into him happily.

Scratching behind Attila’s ears in greeting, he walked towards the pair of cats that settled on a platform at eye level with him, their fluffy bodies pressed close together as they stared at him warily.

Like he would a dog, Theodore offered them his hand, back up to allow them to sniff his hand. When the black cat rubbed against him, the tortie followed suit. He smiled a little, running his hands through the silky fur irrationally angry that Harry hadn’t told him that he’d adopted cats. Theodore didn’t mind, but fuck if he didn’t want to _know_. Like Harry had already kicked Theodore out of his life. They were cats. And life had gotten…busy for lack of a better time. But Harry had brought two tiny living things into their home and hadn’t even bother to tell him.

Who did that?

“Who are you two?” Theodore asked feeling tears prickling in his eyes.

The tortie mewled and nuzzled against her companion. The black cat shook off her affection and leapt to land on Theodore’s shoulder. He tensed as the cat balanced tenuously on his shoulder, rubbing its head against Theodore’s cheek.

“Toghon does that,” Harry said dully from behind him.

Theodore whirled around, breath caught in his chest as his gaze barely had time to land on Harry before he was moving again. Attila followed him into the kitchen.

“Toghon?” Theodore said when he found his voice again.

Harry nodded and scratched Attila on the head, tossing him a piece of the ham he was slicing on the cutting board.

Careful of the cat with its claws hooked into his shoulder, Theodore followed Harry tentatively, leaning against the doorframe of the kitchen.

“Toghon after Toghon Temur the last emperor of Yuan. His girlfriend there is Qi. After Empress Qi, the Goryeo-born former concubine who was Toghon’s favorite and bore his heir apparent Ayushiridara.”

Theodore pursed his lips together and tilted his head. “Oh…” he started dumbly unsure how to respond to that.

Pausing in cutting, Harry sighed and looked up at Theodore with enough heavy patience that Theodore flinched. Shaking his head, Harry admitted, “I’ve been watching k-dramas while working. Or not working. Or being in this house. _Faith_ is playing in the living room. Quietly. Because I’ve seen it enough times to quote it. That’s what I do when I get stressed out. I watch k-dramas because they’re ridiculous, and I’ve only been to Korea that one time—with you—which kind of ruined my favorite de-stressing, relaxation, escapism tactic, but I’m trying anyway. It’s working fairly well as long as I watch period pieces and fantasy dramas. And _Shopping King Louie,_ which is too cute to be insulting to my sensibilities or remind me of you. Cute and innocence are two things that I would absolutely never use to categorize our relationship. So my favorite k-drama is safe.”

His mouth popped open in shock, uncertain exactly what to say to that. Slowly he nodded, and went to the table, lowering himself to sit down. Theodore laced his hands together on top of the table while Toghon jumped off his shoulder to stretch his body across the runner down the table’s center, stretching out in front of Theodore. He eyed the cat considering.

“It’s a trap,” Harry told him coolly. “You lay one hand on his stomach, and he’ll latch on until he draws blood. He’s mentally challenged.”

Theodore flinched and looked up at him, grimacing. “That’s kind of rude, isn’t it? It’s a behavioral challenge not a mental defect.”

Lowering his knife, Harry pierced Theodore with a fierce glare. “Only one of us crosses the boundaries we imposed on this relationship. I wouldn’t lie to you even in hyperbole. The cat is mentally challenged. He’s mentally handicapped from a debilitating early feline illness. They both are.”

“You don’t do things halfway,” Theodore said below his breath.

Harry slammed his knife down on the counter while Theodore winced.

“Sorry.”

“I don’t want to hear anymore apologies from you, Theodore. They are beyond meaningless. You’re not sorry. You’re sorry you got caught. You’re sorry you made such a mess that it’s painful to see you. You’re sorry I want to leave you. You’re not sorry about the drugs. You’re not sorry about spending the entirety of our relationship having me police your intake rather than you trying to quit. You’re not sorry. We agreed not to lie to each other.”

Theodore inhaled deeply and nodded his head, knowing better than to argue the point. There wasn’t much to argue anyway. His discussion with Nahla had put things into perspective. If Harry had been a woman, things would have been radically different. Rosie had called to inform him cheerfully that when Harry got tired of protecting him, she’d be around to cut his dick off since he obviously didn’t need it anymore anyway now that he had progeny to carry on his namesake.

The whole thing had spiraled out of control, and he didn’t know how to save himself.

“Are we eating dinner in here?” Theodore asked timidly.

“Absolutely not,” Harry said with disinterest. “Go put on _Star Wars_.”

“The original series?” Theodore hedged, trying to determine Harry’s mood.

Harry turned to him with a venomous look. “Of course not. _The Force Awakens._ No, you know what, _The Last Jedi_.”

Nodding, Theodore exhaled in relief. The original saga was his go-to when he was a good, mindless mood. The prequels were for when he was in a black mood and wanted to verbally eviscerate multimillion-dollar studio films, James Lucas, and every schmuck involved in the scriptwriting process or CGI effects. The newest series was somewhat neutral ground. _The Force Awakens_ was somewhat hit or miss. _Rogue One_ was for depressing days. And _The Last Jedi_ had become the ‘I want to see shit blow up, heroes get dressed down, and villains take control of their destiny’ moment.

Theodore could deal with _The Last Jedi_.

By the time Harry returned to the living room with two bowls of carbonara, a basket of sliced garlic bread, and two cups of ice water that had been a pointed choice and sharp jab at Theodore’s borderline alcoholism, Theodore had the movie—in all its English glory—up and running. The cats settled along the back of the couch with Attila settling in the notable space between their bodies, apparently satisfied by the distance between them upon which he could infringe.

Theodore managed to shovel three forkfuls into his mouth before setting the bowl down on the table and looking over at Harry.

Who ignored him.

“You said I could comment on the rumors.”

Harry didn’t answer, but the tightening at the corners of his lips said that he wasn’t pretending not to have heard.

“Why now?”

“Don’t pretend like you don’t know how this works.”

Theodore shook his head, frustrated. He raked his blunted nails against his scalp, biting his bottom lip and yanking his hair up into a bun. Harry eyed him distrustfully from the corner of his eyes, causing another flinch from Theodore. He didn’t have to look like Theodore was _dangerous_. Like anything was going to happen to worsen their situation while Theodore was sitting right here on the couch in his sightline.

Being at home had never been the problem.

“Okay so Irial and Cris’s wedding would have detracted from anything I released about Ember and would have gone completely unnoticed which is bad when creating a narrative because things get lost in big happy events like weddings. Okay. You let this cool before started the fire again so that it would catch and gain traction. Okay. But _why now_? You wouldn’t have agreed to this unless you found something. Dakota told me you went to Rapid City while Bailey and Salem were down in Rosebud doing rehab for his injury. What did you find that makes you so sure this is the right narrative?”

Harry turned them and crooked up an eyebrow. “I was always going to find a way to compel a paternity test. That’s sane. That’s how Hollywood works.”

“Stop stalling, please,” Theodore begged quietly, feeling tears fill his eyes.

Harry stared at him for a moment before sighing exhaustedly and nodding. He rubbed his hands over his face and reached over to snag the remote from the coffee table until he pulled up what looked like a security video.

Theodore’s eyebrows furrowed, gaze darting towards Harry before returning to the screen with curiosity.

“Salem got security clearance to the hotel and went through nine hours worth of video footage to track your movements and Ember Caraleigh’s through the whole hotel the night of the after party.” Harry confessed while a sinking feeling settled in the pit of Theodore’s stomach. He turned to Harry and flinched, looking away quickly when he saw how blank Harry’s face was.

“Two glasses of…is that Scotch or whiskey?” Harry asked deceptively lightly.

“Whiskey,” Theodore admitted.

Harry laughed dryly and nodded while they watched Ember Caraleigh disappeared first into the bathroom with KJ Sykes, America Castillo, and some YouTuber, Xavier Perez, who stumbled out a moment later, rubbing his nose familiarly while Theodore stumbled inside. By the time he emerged, he had Ember Caraleigh plastered against him, both of them clearly high.

Theodore sunk into his seat, head in his hands as he watched with horror.

The more they watched him drink and talk with Dido Lynn Darby while Ember Caraleigh alternated between touching him, kissing him, and climbing on top of him, the colder Harry noticeably became. Attila sat up straighter, peering between them with a soft, nervous whine. Theodore rested a hand on the dog’s back while Toghon curled up in Harry’s lap forcing Harry to stroke him and lower his blood pressure.

“I called you then,” Harry said as Theodore watched his phone being plucked from his hand by Ember. Theodore sank lower in his seat. His hands on Ember’s waist, her lips on his mouth, and Harry looking one more wrong move away from murder that Theodore righteously deserved. Theodore reached for his phone onscreen, and Harry said again, “And I called you. A second time.”

Theodore wanted to melt into the cushions as he watched his dumbass, high-ass self have Ember grind against him while whispering in his ear with a sultry smile. He grimaced. Harry nodded. And…Theodore shook his head on screen, pulling back from her and reaching for his phone. He frowned and leaned forward to watch with interest as she moved to intercept, saying something heatedly.

His mouth dropped open in surprise as he shifted Ember off his lap, picked up his cell phone and walked away. Two fingers pressed against his temple as he walked through the party, shoulders hunched, while Ember followed behind him. The video followed them down the hallway while he tried to shake her off and into the elevator where she pressed against him insistently seeming to palm him through his jeans while Theodore gently moved her to the opposite side of the car and darted out when he reached his floor. He stumbled down the hall, out of the elevator, and fell against the door of his room, shaking hands struggling to insert the keycard.

Theodore’s gaze slid to Harry whose fork scraped against his bowl as he watched, jaw set and eyes blazing.

Wincing, Theodore turned and cringed, watching as he got the door open and stepped inside, Ember moving to follow, and Theodore shaking his head, pushing her out and closing the door behind him. Ember knocked, but the door stayed closed.

He turned to Harry.

“I didn’t have sex with her?”

Sighing, Harry set his bowl down on the coffee table and turned to Theodore. “Salem sat through hours of footage. No one entered or left your room until ten the next morning when Rory woke you up for your flight. Unless you had sex in that bathroom…”

“We didn’t,” Theodore said certainly, flushing when Harry looked at him. “I mean I did a line of coke…off her ass.” Harry rolled his eyes while Theodore blushed again. “But I didn’t have sex with her?” He asked hopefully, tears leaking from his eyes.

“Salem followed her. She went back to the party and left with Mizra.”

“Mizra?” Theodore demanded, offended.

Harry shook his head. “He probably doesn’t know. He was almost as drunk as I’m going to tell the press you were. I notified Johanna and his team about this, but I’m releasing this video when we make an official statement.”

“I didn’t have sex with her?” Theodore repeated, overwhelmed and breathing heavy.

Nudging the dog off the sofa, Harry shifted to sit beside Theodore, gingerly wrapped his arms around Theodore’s shoulders as he broke down into heavy sobs, fingers curling around Harry’s forearm. Theodore could feel his hesitancy, the uncertainty and distance he wanted to keep between them to protect himself from that kind of pain again, but he held still and fought his instincts to give Theodore what he needed, relaxing enough to press a kiss to Theodore’s temple.

“No,” he whispered, “you didn’t have sex with her.”

“What do we do now?” Theodore asked.

“I mean even releasing this, we’ll still have to compel a paternity test…”

“No,” Theodore interrupted shifting to meet Harry’s eyes. “What do _we_ do? About us?”

Harry ran a hand over his face and shook his head. “I don’t know, Teddy. Things have to change. I don’t know if we can survive this. I don’t know that I want to take the chance of being that hurt again. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to get over the mistrust I feel. I’m still hurt. And I’m still angry. And I can’t go on like this.”

“Can we…try? I know what I have to do, and even if we can’t, I have to do this. But I don’t want everyone to know until it’s done. I don’t want to turn my addiction into a media circus. Can we try? Can we do that?”

For a moment Harry stared down at him, conflicted, like he was scared to hope. After a moment he sighed, fear flashing through his eyes as he nodded. “I…we can do that. We can try. But we have to finish this first.”

Theodore nodded and felt like he could breathe. Not perfectly. Not clearly. But he could breathe.

 


	36. "Why Did You Lie?" by Carlie Hanson

**Ember Caraleigh (@EmberCara)**

Oh suddenly he can’t remember anything. Suddenly he’s not sure this is his baby #mensuck

 

**Maverick (@MaverickOfficial)**

@EmberCara don’t start fights you can’t finish. I’m warning you right now

 

To: ben.halliday@greenlightmgmt.com

From: haroldbsterling@sterlingandireland.com

Subject: RE: Ember Caraleigh Baby

Tell you client to stop digging her own grave. I know exactly what happened in Beverly Hills, and I’m willing to sit down and discuss this instead of just going to the press with it. I don’t know if you complicit in this massive deception or not, but you’d better get a handle on the situation before I lose my patience.

Best,

Harry Benton-Sterling

 

**Text message from Rosie**

**Rosie:** I mean I get to go watch you fuck them up, right?

**Rosie:** Pleasepleaseplease

**Harry:** You want to come to LA to watch me yell at people?

**Rosie:** Like the good old days.

**Rosie:** Also to avoid Bailey’s super conflicted emails about Cameron and coming out

**Harry:** Don’t panic. Bailey won’t come out until he’s forced out

**Rosie:** Which you expect.

**Harry:** I don’t expect it, but I’m prepared for it.

**Rosie:** Los Angeles?

**Harry:** You didn’t get yourself a ticket already?

 

**Irish Rose (@rosieposie)**

I mean I don’t like LA but the fooooooood! I miss home

 

**Benji Irving (@BenjiDIrving)**

@rosieposie says the culinary master who lives off butter pasta with parmesan cheese

 

**Irish Rose (@rosieposie)**

@BenjiDIrving I will actually kill you. How dare you put me on blast like that?

 

To: haroldbsterling@sterlingandireland.com; rosemaryireland@sterlingandireland.com

From: ben.halliday@greenlightmgmt.com

Subject: RE: Appointment Ember and Maverick

Harry and Rosie,

I look forward to seeing the pair of you and your elusive client in person, but I can assure you that this meeting is unlikely to go the way you think it is. I find it both laughable and offensive you think Ember would lie about the identity of the man who fathered her child. We can talk about reparation when you arrive and slander libel for Maverick’s underhanded commentary to the press that cast shadows on my client’s upstanding character. But for now, welcome to LA, we look forward to a productive meeting about how to move forward.

Best,

Ben Halliday

* * *

Subtle wasn’t really a bone in any of their bodies. Rosie had skipped out of her hotel room looking ready for battle in a burgundy stretch-knit skater dress and heels that probably cost more than their flat’s rent. Her long red hair hung in messy waves to her mid-back, lips a shocking crimson. Sullivan was somehow pulling off a teal suit with a black shirt and tie that was overwhelming in its blueness but looked nice and professional on Sullivan. Harry had gone for a more understated look, in a simple gray suit.

Theodore was dressed like a popstar down to the ripped skinny jeans, leather jacket, and graphic t-shirt worth more than Rosie’s shoes.

Washington and Rory exchanged concerned glances as the car pulled to a stop in front of the glass structure that held the offices of Greenlight Management in Downtown Los Angeles. Harry peered out the window with anticipation building in his gut. It had been insistent and driving since he’d read Ben Halliday’s email while sitting on the runway outside London Heathrow.

Everything about Ben Halliday’s approach was problematic especially since the only thing he had to go on was the word of a liar. At least Theodore had had the decency to admit he had no idea what happened that night. Ember Caraleigh at the very least suspect and thought she’d be able to sell the lie based entirely on Theodore’s inability remember anything and his management’s paranoid desire to see him permanently labeled as straight for the rest of his life.

Harry glanced over at Rosie.

Her lips curled up at the edges with an edge of wickedness. “Ready?” She asked, her voice an excited purr.

“Can you two not,” Sullivan sighed, reaching forward to yank open the car door. “The pair of you give me heart palpitations, I swear. Let’s go.”

They smiled at each other with amusement while Theodore frowned in between them, staring up at the building like it was preparing to consume him. Rosie nudged him in the side before they slid out of the car, Theodore following behind more sedately. His fear was evident and heady, dreading the walk through the lobby and the ride in the elevator up to face Ember Caraleigh and her team of seriously underprepared managers, lawyers, and publicists.

What it came down to was that they shouldn’t be altogether shocked by this sham.

Ember Caraleigh had a lukewarm career where she’d dazzled and charmed people on Nickelodeon only to fail in a spectacular fashion when she exploded onto the adult scene of Hollywood via a number of incredible scandals that included nude photos on Instagram, publicly dating a married man, and a terrible attempt at becoming a musician. Fans could handle the usual post-Disney or post-Nickelodeon break down while they struggled to find footing in the adult world, but Ember’s Caraleigh’s swift and sudden turn around from hometown sweetheart to wild child hadn’t been gradual but rather a return to her pre-Nickelodeon behavior now that she wasn’t being handcuffed by contractual good behavior.

Harry wasn’t a particular fan of her.

And Rosie’s single remark during Ember Caraleigh’s days as a Nickelodeon singing and dancing sweetheart had been that she looked ‘pretty enough for a crazy, conniving bitch.’ He trusted Rosie’s judgment completely.

The receptionist collected IDs before handing them badges and pointing them towards the elevator bar with instructions that they go to level ten where someone would be waiting to guide them to the conference room. As they stepped into the elevator, Theodore pressed his back against the wall, breathing shallow. Harry stepped in front of him, reaching back to lace their fingers together tightly. Theodore tipped his head against Harry’s shoulder blade, hand resting on his lower back.

Rosie rolled her eyes and pretended not to notice them, lips quirking up in a small as she raised her eyebrows at Harry.

‘Stop,’ he mouthed at her.

Waggling her eyebrows, Rosie tipped her chin up with a gleeful smile.

The elevator chimed, and Harry released his hold on Theodore a moment before the doors slid open. Rosie slipped out first, stalking towards the lanky girl with rectangular glasses and a cable knit sweater over a corduroy skirt. Sully and Harry glanced at each other, sharing their amusement before Sully followed, Harry walking behind Theodore through the bullpen of publicists, interns, and secretaries. The youngest and newest hires couldn’t help but stare over their computer screens, whispering excitedly behind their hands.

Sully gazed at them coolly as he held open the door to the conference room. Harry could hear people clearing their throats anxiously under Sully’s fierce gaze. Rosie settled across the table from Ember Caraleigh’s publicist, Nancy Mortimer, legs crossed, fingers interlaced and curled over her knee. Nancy was glaring at her in a way that was anything other than personal, and Rosie smiled back, waving her fingers brightly. She looked over as Theodore slipped into the seat beside her, tilting his head to glare at Ember who dabbed her eyes heavily lined eyes with a tissue.

Harry sighed and yanked out the chair on the other side of Theodore, dropping into it while Sully sat down beside him taking a sip of the overpriced caffeinated beverage he’d insisted they stop for.

“Harry,” Ben drawled in greeting. “It’s been a long time.”

“Not long enough,” Harry returned with a smile. “And I hate Los Angeles.”

“Then you should have discussed with you client the consequences of trying to wriggle out his parental duties. No child deserved to be abandoned because its father isn’t ready,” Ember spat.

Theodore straightened and pointed a finger at her. He inhaled deeply and smiled, “Fuck you. What do you know about parental abandonment? Getting knocked up doesn’t make you a parent. And calling me a father doesn’t make me biologically responsible for your offspring.”

“You’re horrible,” Ember said, choking up.

“I never thought you were a good actress,” Rosie remarked, causing everyone except Theodore to turn towards her. She rested her chin on her upturned fist and nodded her head, lips pursed and eyes narrowed. Rosie turned her head to look at Theodore. “I’m glad to know I was right.”

“Insulting my client is completely unnecessary,” Nancy purred.

“What’s unnecessary is the fact that we’re having this conversation at all,” Ben continued, shaking his head and moving his gaze between Harry and Sully. In the end, he kept his attention on Sully who was taking diligent minutes on his tablet with a custom-made stylus that Salem hadn’t been able to resist making for him within five minutes of conversing. Salem in a nutshell, really. “You know that even hinting at wanting a paternity test is a direct breach of the contract we signed.”

“I don’t know that at all,” Sully stated plainly. “No one’s asked for a paternity test. And Theodore never gave verbal agreement for that contract to be signed.”

“I see we’re not going to small talk,” Harry said with a sigh. “Should we get to the point?”

“Let’s.” Ben said coldly.

Harry nodded and rested his hands on the table. “Everyone knows you don’t just take your client’s word for shit. Because a publicist needs the _facts_. She tells you the baby’s Maverick’s and you just decide to run with that. You decided to trust her. It’s a mistake you’ll regret.”

Ben laughed and shook his head. “It’s your word against ours. What proof do you have? We have a baby and the mother of the child’s word. Everyone knows Maverick’s a playboy.”

“You took a calculated risk,” Theodore said calmly, eyes never leaving Ember who shifted uncomfortably beneath that intensity. “Based on my history at not remembering things I do when I’m high and on my tumultuous past. You knew I wouldn’t abandon a child if I thought it was mine. But I can’t afford for it to be mine, and I wasn’t about to let it drop. I don’t need to remember. I _know_.”

“You don’t know anything,” Ember hissed, losing her temper with desperation in the back of her gaze.

“No, they don’t,” Ben said to calm her. “That’s your proof? Maverick’s assurances that he couldn’t because he was in a committed relationship with some nameless nobody? When he doesn’t remember anything? That’s not proof. That’s tabloid gold. That’s social suicide.”

Rosie laughed harshly and shook her head. “Tabloid gold? Social suicide? No, no, that’s choosing to accuse a man you never slept with of being the father of your baby over the Muslim singer you _actually_ screwed. I mean I get what the reason was. You couldn’t compel Mizra into this the same way you could coerce Maverick into taking accountability. You thought that his complete blotto night would make him more vulnerable where Mizra would fight back. But I’m a writer. And I can tell you _exactly_ how I would spin this if I were in the press. Mizra was so drunk I’m sure he doesn’t remember, but you do.”

Ben and Nancy tensed, slowly looking towards at each other before focusing on Ember.

She grimaced. Laughing harshly, Ember shook her head. “And Maverick’s gonna say what? That he wants a paternity test because he can’t remember screwing me? And I’ll tell the press that he was on cocaine.”

“Do it,” Theodore spat challengingly, raising his eyebrows. “I remember before that point. I did cocaine lines off your ass, and you did cocaine lines off the bathroom counter and out in public. There’s evidence. You tell the world I’m a cokehead, I go to rehab and get a slap on the wrist. You’re still the girl who didn’t know who her baby’s father was on top of being the girl who got high the night she conceived and likely after that as well. It takes at least a few weeks to find out about pregnancy, right?” Ember grimaced and looked away, fuming. Harry looked over at Theodore who’d lost every ounce of patience he had for Ember. “So you go ahead. I dare you.”

“What evidence?” Ben said through tight lips.

Harry raised his eyebrows pleasantly. “Evidence of cocaine usage or evidence that she never slept with Maverick? You’re going to have to be more specific.”

“Any of it. All of it.”

“The hotel gave me access to the video footage.”

Ben turned slowly towards Nancy who’d gone pale, eyes darting towards Ember who refused to meet their eyes. Scowling, she returned her gaze to Ben and shook her head once, tense and certain.

“That’s a VIP hotel. They wouldn’t have.”

“I had Konstantin Kimura-Petrov call. Apparently the security guy was kind of starstruck. Go figure.”

Ben sneered, “Of course you did.”

“I was determined,” Harry deadpanned.

“Obviously we’ll have to review the footage ourselves.”

“Obviously we’ll all review the footage together because I can’t have your people splicing it. I mean, I have an expert, but that’s so tedious. Can’t we skip that part? Professional courtesy. Rosie doesn’t like to do more work than she has to.”

Rosie hummed and shrugged, “What can I say? I’m lazy. I prefer lounging poolside than ripping holes into stupid PR strategies to save face. Although, I’m sure Sully would like a nice defamation suit.”

“It’s been a while,” Sully agreed, shrugging.

“Your call,” Harry taunted, sliding the flashdrive across the table to land in front of Ben. He cupped his chin in his open palm with a slow smile and easy shrug.

Ben considered this a moment before sighing and running a hand over his face. “What do you want?”

“To make this mutually painless. You already caused a lot of trouble, but to be fair, Lysa Thomas allowed that to happen.”

“I hear she was fired,” Nancy hedged carefully.

Theodore looked at her coldly. “Harry made sure of it.”

Nancy paled while Harry nodded. “I don’t like doing extra work. _This_ , this is extra. I want you to issue a retraction. Say she panicked and called out a friend mistakenly thinking he’d help her out. Say she doesn’t remember what happened that night and the last thing she remembered was sitting with Maverick. Say whatever you have to say, but you make this go away. You’ve done enough damage.”

“No.”

All eyes turned to Ember who seemed to have recovered from her momentary lapse of shame and guilt.

“I won’t issue a retraction.” Ember replied without the slightest hint of remorse. Theodore tipped his head back and smiled like he’d expected this. Harry couldn’t say he was anymore surprised. Lying about paternity was a big deal either way this was handled. Ember would not come out smelling like roses. “Have him demand a paternity test. Have it come out negative. But I won’t tarnish my reputation by telling the public I lied. And I won’t mar my child’s future.”

“We’re so far past that,” Sully told her dispassionately.

“Tarnish your reputation?” Rosie demanded in disbelief. “Have you read anything _about_ your reputation? You’re not out here looking like Sandra Bullock, honey.”

“I won’t,” Maverick said with a shrug. “I’m not a saint, and I fuck around when I get high. But you know what, I didn’t. I kept my dick in my pants, and I didn’t get caught up in all this unnecessary drama that you want to drag me into. I handled my business. Handle yours. I didn’t touch you, and I’m goddamned proud of myself, and I’m not sit here and say that I did something that I’m frankly amazed I managed not to do. You don’t want to mar your child’s future? You did that already. _You_ chose to turn this into a media circus. Not me. I get that you don’t know Mizra. I get he’s young and a playboy and irresponsible, but you know what? So are you. Own your shit.”

“Own my shit?” Ember demanded bitterly. “Says a man who can’t get knocked up, who can run away from the decisions that they make.”

“Are we going to make this into a feminist debate, really?” Theodore asked with a long-suffering sigh. Rosie rolled her eyes and let Theodore handle his business. No one—Harry especially—wanted to get involved in those muddy waters. “Okay, I don’t have a uterus. And if girls want to fuck around, that’s their right, and if they want to bring irresponsible guys that they’re irresponsible with to court for child support or whatever, that’s also their right. It takes two to make a baby, but it also takes two to fuck up so badly that you managed to conceive at all. I’ve fucked around a lot, and I don’t remember shit. But I remember that every girl I fucked around with made sure that I had a condom on whether I was blotto or not. It’s your uterus, and you let him stick his dick into you completely unprotected. That’s _your_ fault. Not mine. And not his. It’s _your_ uterus. Get it together.”

Rosie whistled and grimaced, scratching her head and narrowing her eyes on the opposite wall.

“You chauvinistic piece of shit!” Ember screamed at him, starting to lunge for him when Ben and Nancy tugged her back to her seat.

Harry cleared his throat awkwardly.

Yikes.

“Get it together,” Theodore told her mercilessly. “You made the mess. You fucking clean it up. Don’t drag me into your shit and demand I play your petty little mind games. Go fuck yourself. I don’t have to answer to you.”

“Don’t make this personal,” Ben pleaded with Harry. “We can both come out of this clean.”

“Clean-ish,” Rosie clarified making Ben scowl.

Harry nodded and waved a hand dismissively, “But when it comes to this baby, my client is clean. This is your problem. If you choose to make it mine, I’ll bury you. You know that, Ben.”

Ben exchanged a quick look with Nancy who nodded. Sighing, he ran his hands through his hair. “Give us a few hours to come up with a workable plan?”

“Three hours, done.” Harry said standing up and sweeping the flashdrive off the table to pocket it. He caught the glance between Ben and Nancy, looking over at Rosie who nodded tersely as she swept out of her chair and stalked out of the room followed by Theodore. He peered curiously between Rosie and Harry, looking away when Harry shook his head pointedly. Though his eyebrows furrowed, Theodore turned and held the door open for Rosie who pressed a kiss to his cheek gratefully.

Rosie led the way to the elevators, pressing the button and glancing behind her as they approached. Harry crooked and eyebrow, and Harry wrinkled his nose, sticking his tongue out at her. She laughed and shook her head, stepping into the elevator, leaning back on the railing.

They waited until the doors closed before Harry spoke.

“You sent the video to those people?”

“Of course,” Rosie agreed.

Theodore looked at them in surprise.

Harry shrugged, “Three hours to revise a plan that shouldn’t include us? That’s some bullshit. It’s chess at this point. They’re going to release a statement to back us into a corner. It’ll take a few hours for the entertainment news sites to go through the entirety of the video footage themselves—well, the parts we provided—but it’ll contradict her story without us having to talk at all. We’ll release a statement that you were too drunk to remember what happened and didn’t want to slander a friend and colleague so you were willing to submit to a paternity test.”

“You’re going to drop her into the middle of hurricane.” Theodore said in a tone subdued enough that Harry would think was disapproving if he didn’t know him so well. Theodore was pleased.

“I told Ben not to fuck with me.”

“I’m sorry whose plan was this?” Rosie demanded pointedly.

Harry grinned and shrugged his shoulders. “I mean I can take a little pride being the Yoda to your Luke Skywalker.”

“Compare me to that whiny little baby one more time. Trying to blame Kylo Ren for going crazy when he tried to kill him for having an alien entity fucking his mind. _Luke Skywalker_ ,” she scoffed shaking her head. “I at least want to be Anakin.”

“Is he better?” Theodore asked doubtfully.

“Than Luke?” Sully challenged.

Theodore considered this and nodded, “Point taken.”

When Theodore looked at him, Harry nodded and smiled a little. “Starting now, this all happens very fast. They make the first move, and we have to keep the pace until things exhaust themselves. Ready?”

“No,” Theodore said with determination.

“Good.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to clarify points, Ember is not a racist and Theodore is not a misogynist but he is very big on people taking responsibility for their actions (and for all his personal failings he recognizes and accepts when he makes mistakes) and refuses to allow her to shift blame. Ember chose Theodore simply because she'd publicly had more contact with him at the party and because he made a better mark. An emotionally vulnerable drug addict was way easier to strongarm into a favorable agreement than a young, clearheaded popstar who's not dating his publicist.
> 
> And it was pointed out that it makes no sense Harry forgave Theodore that fast. He didn't. I mean this is a trust issue and a self-control problem. And forgiveness isn't a free-for-all. They have issues but none of those issues can even begin to be addressed until Theodore gets his shit together. Which is coming soon.


	37. "Out of Focus" by Chelsea Cutler

**BREAKING: Maverick denies paternity of Ember Caraleigh’s baby**

Ember Caraleigh seemed optimistic going into her surprising pregnancy, going on over four months now, it seemed like her and baby daddy, Maverick, had come to some kind of arrangement of handling their joint venture. Outraged fans seemed to have encouraged Maverick to question the parentage of the child in question, despite promises to co-parent alongside Caraleigh and accept responsibility, Maverick is allegedly demanding a paternity test before committing to anything. This admission came from a tearful Ember Caraleigh just moments ago when she was spotting leaving a meeting with lawyers and Maverick, though she refused to speak to press a source revealed that Maverick “shocked Ember by suddenly demanding a paternity despite insisting he had no doubts about his paternity. It totally blindsided Ember. This is stressful enough without Maverick suddenly getting cold feet.”

 

> **Comments:**
> 
> **Anonymous:** Dear god I hope this is true
> 
> **14_daisychain:** You and me both fam.
> 
> **kkaleigh:** This is disgusting. You little fangirls should be disgusted. A man should take responsibility for his decision.
> 
> **JLorney:** Yup…IF this is his responsibility. That’s kind of the point.

 

**Ember Caraleigh (@EmberCara)**

I didn’t want things to come out this way, but the rumors are true. I’m devastated.

 

**RT by @K9_Crosby, @Marley_Afwa, @rosieposie, @e_valence1997**

**Alina Rosen (@AlinaAzadi)**

@EmberCara I hope you get what you deserve for this absolutely disgusting nonsense

 

**Text message from Mizra**

**Mizra:** I’m so sorry

 **Mizra:** I had no idea

 **Theodore:** You and me both

 **Mizra:** My mom’s gonna be hella pissed.

 **Theodore:** Lmao get a paternity test

 **Mizra:** No shit.

 

To: nicks.melanie@dissidentmanagement.com; adelaide.johanna@dissidentmanagement.com

From: haroldbsterling@sterlingandireland.com

Subject: RE: RE: Ember Caraleigh

I’m warning you right now, everything kicks off now. I already sent the video because Greenlight Management forced me into a corner. It’ll be examined any day now and they’ll make the connection to Mizra. Maverick already informed Mizra, but this is a professional courtesy, I promised to keep you informed.

Best,

Harry Benton-Sterling

 

**YouTube Channel, Real Talk Daily: Maverick not the father?**

**Mckinley:** So we’ve gone back and forth since news broke about being excited for Maverick’s baby and freaking out about his decision not to get a paternity test. And so have all of his fans. It looks like there’s way more to that story than we all expected.

 **Daryl:** I expected it.

 **Mckinley:** I…yeah, okay that’s true. Ember Caraleigh released a statement yesterday evening that rumors of her being distraught by Maverick’s sudden decision to request a paternity test were true. Turns out someone leaked video from the hotel where this whole thing went down—the only time when it could be plausible for Maverick to be the father since he specifically flew in from London for the AMAs in November and flew back out the very next day, and they don’t sleep together. The video shows the hallway outside Maverick’s room.

 **Daryl:** And the numerous times he rejected her before locking himself in his room where he stayed until morning. But it also captures her going into a room with what looks like Azadi’s Mizra.

 **Mckinley:** Yeah it’s a serious blow to her story. I mean but I wonder why he wouldn’t have outright said he didn’t sleep with her.

 **Daryl:** Umm…who would have believed him?

 

**Morning Talk with Paulie Peterson**

**Paulie:** I’ve heard some crazy things Mav…

 **Maverick:** You and me both to be honest. It’s kind of a complicated situation, but delicate too. I mean let’s not forget there’s a baby involved.

 **Paulie:** Of course, of course, but not your baby?

 **Maverick:** Definitely not I guess.

 **Paulie:** You guess?

 **Maverick:** I’m a bad drunk. I’d had a good night, and I really didn’t know. I didn’t want to say anything or press the issue because I wasn’t sure and paternity tests in-utero are dangerous…aren’t they?

 **Paulie:** I’m not an OB!

 **Maverick:** Me either! So you can see the trouble! She’s in a bad situation, you know, and no one wants to make it worse. But there’s nothing worse than wondering about your parentage. When I realized this was going to be an issue, I figured I had to pursue it now or never, you know. And with that video leaking, I mean…

 

**Mizra (@MizraAzadi)**

No I had no idea. Yes I will pursue it. Yes I will be requesting a paternity test

 

**Ember Caraleigh (@EmberCara)**

This video is a huge invasion of privacy and I will certainly be pursuing the lack of professionalism by this hotel

 

**Ember Caraleigh (@EmberCara)**

All the decisions I made was with the best interest of my child in mind, and I never would have mentioned @MaverickOfficial I had known

 

**Ember Caraleigh (@EmberCara)**

It’s shameful to admit that the night my child was conceived, I don’t remember much at all.

 

**Beth (@greenbaybeth)**

@EmberCara then you shouldn’t have said anything until you were sure! “Not remembering much at all” is not the same as being honest

 

**Trina X (@KatLady08)**

@EmberCara how is lying about your kid’s father in the best interest in your child? I’m so confused.

 

**Xx (@NadiaReals)**

@EmberCara ok but would your ‘best interest’ have been different if @MizraAzadi wasn’t Muslim?

 

**Irish Rosie (@rosieposie)**

@HaroldBSterling @SullyAlexander okay but I saw that coming…

 

**Ember Caraleigh insists ‘no harm, no foul’**

Despite overwhelming evidence that actress and singer, Ember Caraleigh fabricated a story about Maverick fathering her baby she seems convinced she did nothing wrong. ‘No harm, no foul,’ Caraleigh laughed on a radio show just this morning when discussing the issue. She went on to say, “The whole situation was a hazy blur. I just didn’t remember in its entirety. I’d never want to deny my child its biological father or a father their biological. Now that I know, I have a better handle on the situation.” But neither Maverick nor Mizra seem ready to forgive and forget. Azadi bandmember, Mizra, stated in a press conference, “Her recent history has not inspired confidence in her recall around the time of her conception. I’m not certain I’m the father, and I’m not certain she’s sure either. I will be requesting a paternity test for confirmation, but honestly I’m not expecting much.” Even more forthright about her blasé dismissal of the issue was Maverick who said, “There was harm. There was foul. I was too drunk and behaved inappropriately and couldn’t remember what happened. But she knew enough to know that it wasn’t me. I was in a relationship. A very serious relationship that she exploded without any evidence or certainty. I feel fouled.” His announcement caused another wave of vitriol from fans who supported the singer’s three-year relationship with an unnamed woman. Maverick refused to comment on the current status of his relationship with the woman.

 

**Maverick (@MaverickOfficial)**

I think it’s time for us to take a little break, don’t you?

 

**Ollie Pollie (@Opheliasdilemma)**

@MaverickOfficial you can’t retire :’(((((

 

**Maverick (@MaverickOfficial)**

@Opehliasdilemma lmao I cant live without music. An actual break. 4months totally away from the drama of Hollywood!

* * *

They landed at Annemasse Aerodome on the border of Switzerland and France at ten o’clock in the morning with a lightly sedated Attila snoozing in the backseat with his nose pressing against the soft mesh of the cat carrier. The rental car smelled like snow and cleaning solution, a small but large enough Renault Captur in a truly insulting shade of burnt orange. Theodore had wanted to drive on the hour long trip from Annemasse to Châtel simply to give him something to do other than to overthink, but he was on day three of his detox, the effects becoming more and more severe.

Harry had taken one look at him and plucked the rental’s keys from his fingers before signing the paperwork and guiding him into the car. In April, the weather was chilly but not the same sort of frigid Theodore would expect in winter at the height of the skiing and snowboarding craze that took place at the resorts and outlying chalets. Theodore shivered, reaching out to turn up the dial on the heat, wrapping the Sherpa throw he’d brought from home tighter around him as he shivered, muscles aching, and eyes heavy from fatigue. He couldn’t sit still, hands playing with the pen from the rental agency, capping and uncapping, and popping Skittles whenever a pang for cocaine went through him.

“You okay?”

“If I listen to my Elton John cd will you be terribly upset?” Theodore rasped, head tilted back against the headrest and eyes shifting from the mountains rising in the distance, sloping hills dotted with houses and chalets leading off the D22 into the wilderness.

“Is it the greatest hits one?” Harry inquired, giving no quarter even as Theodore wet his lips and breathed shallowly, desperate for a hit.

“It has ‘Tiny Dancer’ on it if that’s what you’re asking.”

“I’d prefer Billy Joel, but I’ll settle,” Harry teased, accepting Theodore’s phone and cord when he passed it over and plugged it into the car. He turned the volume up as the first song came over the speakers, then passed Theodore a bottle of water that he accepted gingerly in a quivering hand.

“Are you sure you’re really British? Elton John is a national treasure.”

“Yes, but his music isn’t my style,” Harry argued with a slight smile. “Surely, you understand that?”

Theodore hummed, hand dropping, water bottle sloshing as it landed against his thigh like his arm had run out of strength. Harry glanced over at him and swallowed, looking away quickly to keep the worry from his face. He caught that concern anyway, but it worried him as much as he appreciated it. Cocaine detox was dangerous, and Theodore didn’t pretend he wasn’t afraid of what it would feel like. The ghost pains he felt when he went too long were nothing compared to what he was experiencing now, nothing like what he imagined he’d experience in even a few hours when reality set into his cells that cocaine wasn’t coming.

Wordless, Harry reached over to rest a hand over Theodore’s. Their fingers linked together, and Theodore rested his sweating forehead against the window, gazing out as they bypassed the quaint French town along the highway.

With a turn of the roundabout, they were driving down a narrow two-lane highway on the slope of the mountain lined with trees, piles of snow still remained in shade not yet melted despite the particularly warmer weather. When the trees to their right gave way to roads and houses overlooking a valley between multiple mountains, trees higher up still white with unmelted snow that almost blended into the light gray clouds stretching out above. Though the sun was hidden behind the thick cover of clouds, Theodore squinted like the light was still too bright on his sensitive eyes.

Châtel was a big little village overlooking the sloping valleys of the alps and inundated with hotels and chalets to rent for the season, but it wasn’t where Alpine-Francais Rehab Center was actually located. Outside the city proper, down a gravel road into the wilderness in the township of Vonnes was where the facility was located.

The rehab center owned a huge piece of property high up in the mountain overlooking a gentle river and the valley between France and Switzerland. High enough that snow still littered the ground, mixing with the gravel to become a caked dark mud. Harry handed over his ID to the guard at the gate who handed it back and opened the gates, allowing the car to creepy up the still snowy driveway through white dusted trees to the driveway outside the main building.

A willowy woman in a long parka leaned on the railing upstairs, gray hair tucked beneath a knit skull cap and waving at them genially as they stopped at the bottom of the stairs.

“You okay?” Harry checked in again.

Theodore looked over at him with a slight smile as two boys in scrubs and unzipped jackets darted out of the chalet to trot down the stairs after the woman. Harry and Theodore exchanged a long look before they climbed out of the car, Theodore following more slowly feeling like he was dragging his limbs though mud and keeping the blanket wrapped around him.

“ _Bonjour_ ,” the woman greeted with a smile, offering her hand first to Harry, then to Theodore. “I’m Janine Pequot. I oversee all the treatment in the facility. You must be Harry Benton-Sterling and Theodore Maverick. I believe we spoke on the phone.”

Harry raised his hands and looked over at Theodore. “This one was all him. He insisted he wanted to handle this.”

Dr. Pequot smiled kindly at him before her brows knitted together. “How many hours into detox are you?”

“A little under seventy-two,” Theodore admitted, wetting his lips and swaying dangerously.

“Have you ever tried to detox on your own before?”

“Yeah.”

“How long did you make it before you relapsed?”

Smiling humorlessly, Theodore confessed, “Fifty hours.”

“And you said you’ve been using cocaine how long?”

“Almost ten years.”

Without the slightest glint of judgment in her eyes, she nodded her head and waved one of the nurses over. He caught Theodore as he swayed again, eyes on Dr. Pequot, waiting for instructions. “Let’s start getting him upstairs and into the room we’ve had prepared. Andrei, start grabbing bags for me please. The staff’s going to have to search them. It’s policy. We simply can’t have any paraphernalia on the premises. It can set everyone in the program back. If you want to go, no one here is going to stop you but we cannot have patients using drugs in front of people trying to get clean.”

Theodore nodded tiredly. “That’s fine, but I’m sure Harry already searched them.”

Dr. Pequot looked at him curiously while Harry rolled his eyes and shrugged, “I did one better. I had Attila search them. I wouldn’t exactly put it past you.”

Theodore winced, but none of the staff seemed startled by the bitter, snappish comment. Dr. Pequot narrowed her eyes and looked between them with interest but didn’t say anything. Yet. Theodore supposed there was still plenty of time.

The stairs looked like a mountain with his limbs feeling so weighed down, the exhaustion setting into his bones, and his body aching. The nurse introduced himself as Reese and helped expertly to navigate him up the stairs while Dr. Pequot talked to a couple of woman through the door of the chalet. Harry helped Andrei grab Theodore’s bags. Despite intending to stay for close to four months, he’d only brought the necessities. Harry had insisted on it. Instead of his entire closet, Theodore brought only one suitcase, a backpack, and his acoustic guitar, which had been approved by the facility’s director who was a huge supporter of art and music therapy.

Andrei and Harry carried Theodore’s belongings up the stairs while one of the woman held the door open as Reese helped Theodore inside.

The chalet felt like a colossal log cabin with rich wood colors, crimson carpets, and a rustic antler chandelier dangling from the ceiling. A roaring fireplace off the living room dominated the space where a girl younger than Theodore sat cross-legged on a sofa in a unicorn onesie, watching him over the back of the sofa with her eyes bruised and cheeks sunken in, eyes narrowed in suspicion. There was a kitchen and offices and a couple of medical exam rooms nurses, doctors, and therapists waking around the space however the homey feel.

A landing with a wooden railing cut across the high ceiling above creating a catwalk that lead to the staircase off the main entrance, a coat rack at the base behind a reception desk where a girl quickly minimized her Amazon screen as Dr. Pequot passed.

“The facility’s full now,” Dr. Pequot said for Harry’s benefit having exchanged a number of emails with Theodore but none with Harry. “We only accept a maximum of five patients at a time. Patients stay in the main chalet where we have 24-hour reception, a doctor always on call, and therapist always on call. Most of the doctors, counselors, and therapists live off the property in Vonnes or Châtel, but the nurses and some of the newer staff stay in dorms on property. Security’s at the gate at all times, and we take privacy with the utmost seriousness especially in regards to therapy sessions.”

Theodore saw Harry look at her sharply.

“I’m his publicist.”

Dr. Pequot raised her eyebrows. “Is that all?”

Theodore swallowed painfully, his mouth dry waiting for the confirmation. Maybe he might have been honest before, but Harry’s agreement to try to find a way forward for them didn’t equate to him being okay with the situation.           

“No,” he answered surprisingly causing Theodore to trip over his feet in shock. A warm feeling spread through him.

“How much do you know about this facility?”

Harry shrugged, “Teddy said he wanted to handle this himself, and honestly? I didn’t think he’d even go.”

Theodore flinched again while Reese grimaced slightly, though appearing entirely unsurprised by the acrimony between them.

An elderly man with salt and pepper hair stood outside a door holding a glass bottle of Voss water in his hand. His rheumy blue eyes were partially hidden behind scratched rectangular glasses. He grinned kindly, waving a hand at Theodore in greeting while Theodore narrowed his eyes almost certain that he recognized the man. But before he could wrap his mind around things, the man had disappeared into his room closing the door firmly behind him while Andrei scoffed and rolled his eyes.

“We get that a lot,” Dr. Pequot told Harry kindly.

“I’m sure,” he agreed.

Theodore swallowed his nausea, pain, and emotional anxiety as Reese helped him to the room at the end of the hallway. A maid outside the door paused, eyes wide, before rushing to open the door to the bedroom.

It was large and posh and plush with a light colored wood on the floors, walls, and arched ceilings made to feel even more rustic with the exposed support beams in the ceiling. A large sheepskin rug lay on the floor of the entryway across from an open closet with a luggage rack. There was a sectional facing a large flat screen television with the queen-sized bed just beyond between two nightstands, a loft space above the doors leading out to the balcony filled with blankets and sheets.

In the lap of luxury to detox, and Theodore still wanted to runaway, snort cocaine lines until his body didn’t feel like it had turned against him, and take his chances without sobriety. He wondered what it would be like if he wasn’t rich. If he couldn’t afford to get sober in a private chalet in the French Alps with private chefs, in-house doctors and counselors, and breath taking views of the mountains. If he had to do group therapy with more than four other people with just as much to lose as himself, people who were stealing their parents money or their bodies to afford the drugs killing them.

Theodore figured he probably wouldn’t have gone, honestly.

Even before he was a celebrity, he was intensely private and exceedingly controlled. There would be no way that he would wonder into a facility where he didn’t feel comfortable to sit in a glorified hospital that was easier to check out of with hordes people angry and resentful to be there. With some things, Theodore was an elitist, and he could freely admit that if he didn’t have the money for this kind of rehab, then he would have been one of dozens of celebrities destined to die of an accidental overdose.

He collapsed onto the bed, heel of his palm pressing against his forehead.

Reese knelt down beside him, checking his pulse and looking over at Andrei with a curt comment about his heart rate and checking his blood pressure.

“I need to know if you’re going to stick through this process,” Dr. Pequot said to Harry.

Theodore turned his head slowly to meet Harry’s green eyes across the room. He ran a hand through his hair, and Theodore saw that brief moment of hesitation. That split second where he thought Theodore couldn’t do this. That in two weeks he’d be giving up and going back to the life he had been living before Ember Caraleigh’s lies had forced him to make a change.

Then, the moment passed.

Harry turned to Dr. Pequot, “Yes. How bad is this going to get?”

“Cocaine for almost ten years? Using probably high quality drugs every other day? We’re almost definitely going to be looking at mental health concerns, almost fifty percent of users detoxing experience suicidal thoughts accompanying depression during the withdrawal process. Probably some paranoia or aggression if not or including.”

Grimacing, Harry glanced over at Theodore, reading the fear in his eyes but forging on regardless. “And physically?”

“The trouble with cocaine is the possible cardiac issues that can arise from detoxing. Seizures are a risk that I’m surprised, frankly, that he hasn’t had before. There’s a possibility of his developing an arrhythmia or an infarction—a heart attack.”

Harry released a harsh huff of breath and raked his fingers through his hair, looking over at Theodore worriedly, but he was in far too much discomfort to have this moment of fear. His chest was tight, his muscles ached and throbbed, his stomach cramped and heaved, and his heart felt like it was racing. Theodore pulled in a ragged breath, clothes drenched in sweat, vision burring.

“Umm…” Harry started uncertainly, eyes darting around like he was panicked.

He _was_ panicked.

“Okay…” he forced out.

“He’ll be monitored until the most dangerous symptoms pass. We have a sauna in-house for the worst of the muscle pain. He can take paracetemol for the pain and antidepressants, but hopefully we won’t get to that point. The biggest hurtle with cocaine detoxification are heart troubles, so we’ll have to see him through the worst of that.”

“Dr. Pequot,” Andrei said sharply, “his blood pressure’s really high.”

“Let’s keep an eye on that,” Dr. Pequot said urgently. “Did we get a heart rate?”

“A little over two hundred,” Reese agreed.

“That’s…” Dr. Pequot shook her head and ordered sharply to a nurse standing by the door in French before turning to Harry and putting a hand on his arm. “Are you staying in town?”

“I…” Harry swallowed hard, turning away from Theodore with a stricken and overwhelmed look on his face. “I, uh, yeah. I’m…a friend is letting me stay at her chalet up in Châtel until, I mean, until I feel like I can leave him for more than a day without things being touch and go.”

“That’s good,” Dr. Pequot agreed as the nurse shuffled in with a tray full of medication. The doctor’s eyes followed the nurse as she knelt down beside Andrei and Reese, a wheeled pole to hold the IV line the woman prepared following behind. Harry ran a hand over his face anxiously, eyes returning to meet Theodore’s before flickering away again. “Listen, we’ll keep you updated, but this first week of detox is not going to be pretty or quick or painless. I’ll call you to come in and see him once he’s stable and in better condition. Then we can talk through the program he and I discussed before his admission and some options about therapy. If that’s alright?”

“I…yeah…I’ll,” Harry waved his hand vaguely towards the door before dropping Theodore’s bag on the sofa and dashing across the room to kneel beside Theodore.

The staff graciously pretended they didn’t see anything except for Dr. Pequot who had been joined by another woman, plump with gray blonde hair. She had a notebook in her hand, scribbling notes down hastily, eyes narrowed in concentration and interest, unbeknownst to Harry or dismissed by him entirely.

Hand trembling, Harry ran a hand over Theodore’s sweat soaked hair, forcing a smile. “Don’t have a fucking heart attack.”

Theodore laughed weakly and tried to touch Harry’s cheek, but his arm was too weak to make the distance. Harry interlaced their fingers and pressed Theodore’s flushed palm to his cheek, eyes wet with unshed tears. He’d seen Harry in a lot of moods, but this absolute terror naked on his face was new and disconcerting.

“You look terrible,” Theodore said bluntly.

Laughing, Harry pressed a kiss to his lips, then palm, before rising to her feet and smiling. “You’re not the only one who was afraid,” Harry confessed quietly. And Theodore felt, for the first time, like he could breathe.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did a lot of research about cocaine detox for this, but that being said I'm not an expert. My family is a long line of alcoholics and one drug addict that I am too young to remember that detox or even which drug he was one at the time. So take this with a grain of salt.
> 
> The rehab facility is based loosely on an actual facility except it's in the Swiss Alps not the French Alps. But the town is real as are the depictions of the road. It's amazing what Google Earth can do.


	38. "Sober" by James Arthur

**Text message from Rosie**

**Rosie:** What’s with this Lola Packwin stunt?

**Harry:** That’s the thing isn’t it?

**Harry:** I have a plan.

**Rosie:** What plan?

**Rosie:** Wait…is this file in my inbox the plan?

**Rosie:** Does Theodore know about the plan?

**Harry:** Will he be upset if he knows about the plan?

**Rosie:** Do you think he’ll be upset if he knows about the plan?

**Harry:** Then we don’t tell him about the plan until Chaz is done. Agreed?

**Rosie:** It’s ur relationship to screw up

 

**Marley Afwa (@Marley_Afwa)**

Be honest with me @MaverickOfficial are you secretly getting married?

 

**Maverick (@MaverickOfficial)**

@Marley_Afwa tbh I’m so in the doghouse marriage has been tabled until after the zombie apocalypse

 

**YouTube Channel, Real Talk Daily: Maverick’s Second Single**

**Mckinley:** Even though Maverick has gone on hiatus for the next few months, he left us a present to tide us over through the long slog without him. Before returning to London prior to his holiday, Maverick apparently made a stop to film a music video for his second single off his EP, Growing Pains.

**Della:** The lyric video dropped just last evening for his single ‘Domesticated’, which I’ve been totally in love with since I heard it in all its electropop ballad glory on the EP. And apparently it was filmed not in some swanky upscale place but in one of London’s poorest neighborhoods and a place where Maverick spent most of his childhood: Hackney. And included Camry Dennings, a relatively unknown English actress who also lived through London’s foster system. So I’m really excited about this video.

**Mckinley:** I’m really excited about this song choice and what it means. I’m a shameless Maverick fan, and fan of his incredibly private relationship with his girlfriend whose name we still don’t know. I was really afraid they’d broken up after the Ember Caraleigh debacle.

**Della:** Didn’t they?

**Mckinley:** I can’t believe you’d even ask me that. No! Maverick all but confirmed that this holiday was a glorified opportunity to write his fifth studio album and work on his relationship with his girlfriend. And ‘Domesticated’ is basically about being so fucked that you’re constantly on the verge of ruining your relationship. And he probably wouldn’t have such it if his girlfriend had broken up with him. At least, that’s the hope. We probably won’t know till he returns.

 

**Harry Benton-Sterling (@HaroldBSterling)**

The Hun literally loves day long mountain hikes and the felines apparently love laying on the porch to stare at the mountain all day.

 

**Dakota Crosby (@K9_Crosby)**

@HaroldBSterling no fear they’ll run away while you’re out?

 

**Harry Benton-Sterling (@HaroldBSterling)**

@K9_Crosby hell no you should meet them #spoiled

 

**Teddy Langston (@TM_1996)**

Everything hurts. I don’t want to do anything. Fuck these doctors and facility and my boyfriend and everything. Fuck you. I hate you. Let me die.

 

**Text message from Mabel**

**Mabel:** What is going on? Sean just called and said something about Teddy being angry or depressed or something

**Harry:** On his private twitter?

**Mabel:** Yes!

**Harry:** I guess things aren’t going well. We’re still on zero contact. I only get updates on his medical status.

**Mabel:** Where is my son?

**Harry:** Châtel.

**Mabel:** Chatel?

**Harry:** Well technically Vonnes. In France.

**Mabel:** In France??? My workaholic son is vacationing in France?

**Harry:** If we call detoxing a vacation. I think he disagrees going by his Twitter.

**Harry:** At least he did it on the private one.

**Mabel:** My baby’s in rehab?

 

**Teddy Langston (@TM_1996)**

Whoever the fuck invented the frittata should be shot. How fucking dare you fucking make eggs into a pie and act like that’s not a goddamn sacrilege. Go fuck yourself.

 

**Teddy Langston (@TM_1996)**

Great people want to talk to me now. I’d rather sit in the fucking doctor’s office again. How do I say fuck off to nosy assholes?

* * *

**Day 7**

“Wow,” a girl said slinking in from the entranceway between the kitchen and dining room. He remembered her vaguely, rail thin and terrified from the first day he had arrived at the facility, but that felt like it had been ages ago. Her eyes still had dark bruises beneath them, cheeks sunken in, but her unicorn onesie had been exchanged for a Chewbacca one that she seemed to wear with pride. “You look terrible,” she stated perching on a chair across the table from him. She reached out to pluck an orange from the basket in the middle of the table while he stabbed his frittata viciously.

“Says the girl who looks like an anorexic meth whore,” Theodore spat, brutally cutting into the frittata he had no intention of eating.

Her eyebrows rose thoughtfully, scoffing. “Wow, still in the mean stages, huh? I expect an apology when you’re back at capacity, dickhead. Cokehead’s are so mean.”

“Seen a lot of those?” He demanded.

She shrugged her thin shoulders delicately, tossing a sliver of orange peel onto the table. Crooking a thin eyebrow that had been overplucked enough to look like she had drawn it on with magic marker that very morning, the girl waved a dismissive hand.

“Doc says I shouldn’t blame my ex-boyfriends for my personal mistakes. But shall I be honest? If Kyler hadn’t spent his life introducing me to a series of high-functioning drug addicts, then I wouldn’t have wound up popping Oxy like candies. Not that I should be playing the blame game,” the girl confessed, waving a hand dismissively. Her words were tinged with a deep dialect that Theodore had heard only from Liverpool.

Through the din of his fury and depression and deep-seat dissatisfaction without the amount of pain and sickness he was currently in, Theodore recognized her. Vanessa Patridge had been—or rather still was a reality star—who’d made her start as the step-daughter of a member of the British nobility when her mother had upgraded from mistress to wife. She’d wound up living with her father in Liverpool after one too many scandals and become a star on the UK’s _Geordie Shore_ before washing out when her drug addiction had become the show’s forefront issue. Now here she was, hidden away in a distant rehab away from the public eye and the London elite.

Kyler Hammond likely being the cokehead ex-boyfriend and lead singer of a rockband that made it’s primary living singing to emo teenagers at Vans Warped Tour. Not that Theodore thought anything was wrong with that, but emo music was a fascinating scene where troubled people sung to troubled people about troubling topics. _Not that that’s different from pop music,_ Theodore amended silently to himself. _If Selena Gomez sings one more song about being submissive to a man and wanting to please him, she’d probably skip the awards for being a brave women for backing her health into a corner requiring a transplant and go straight being the Super Mostest Awesome Woman of the Universe award._

Theodore knew better than to say that, though.

Lorde had gotten enough hate for righteously pointing out Selena Gomez’s intensely anti-feminist lyrical displays. Theodore—possessing both XY chromosomes and a pair of balls—would probably get stabbed, recovering addict or not.

He really didn’t have the temperament for that sort of argument today.

“Vanessa,” Theodore drawled coolly. She raised her eyebrows and cocked her head. “Could you fucking go away? I clearly don’t want to socialize.”

“You being a pill because your boyfriend’s abandoned you?”

Theodore winced and glared at her.

Vanessa smiled angelically, popping a slice of orange into her mouth. Rising gracefully to her feet, she pulled her hood up over her stringy black hair. Lips curling up in a cruel smile, she taunted, “It must suck to have someone you love just abandon you here. Said he was coming back, did he? They never do. They leave and laugh as you destroy yourself. You think he loves you? He doesn’t.”

His eyes flashed as he looked over at her. “Don’t project your mummy issues onto me.” Her smile fell abruptly, a cold fury replacing her former savage glee. An icy feeling spread through his veins, a certainty and agreement with her words that he’d never show to her. “Did she dump you here so that she didn’t look like such a failure homewrecker? Tucked you away into nowhere. Never called. Never wrote. Bet daddy didn’t either.” Her face purpled with rage, and Theodore picked the rest of her unfinished orange off the table, tossing to her with a smile. “If you’re going to talk, next time don’t be neck deep in your own shit. Fuck off.”

* * *

To: didoandcompany@gmail.com; f.adelaide@gmail.com

From: haroldbsterling@sterlingandireland.com

Subject: RE: Theodore Maverick

This is, as both of you know, a follow up email to the one I’ve sent previously before. However, this is not me asking nice anymore. I emailed you about this a week ago, both of you and patiently waited for your responses knowing they would be neither eager nor easy. However I find this silence completely unacceptable and would like to remind both you that I’m not immune to leveraging a reply. I am not asking for much. That being said I know both Johanna’s personal email and Angelica’s professional one, and I’m sure both of them will have a strong opinion on this topic. And if you think you’re above such ground-level defense, Dido, you’d be wrong. Your husband is not a man living quietly and alone. I have Leroy’s personal information, and it was not difficult to obtain. Try to remember that next time you get uppity. I have no interest in upending both your lives, but I have an interest in preserving Theodore’s. Neither of you want to admit you had a hand in the decisions he made through his lifetime, but you did. And now it’s time to begin taking responsibility for the destruction you wrought.

Best,

Harry Benton-Sterling

* * *

**Day 13**

“Well,” Dr. Pequot said with a relieved sigh, “I think in terms of heart conditions and potential seizures, you’re out of the woods on that front. There might be some lingering symptoms in the form of muscles aches and pains, fatigue, and certainly cravings both for food as well as for cocaine, but they’re all very manageable. Kerry?”

‘Kerry’ was Dr. Kerrigan, a Canadian-born psychiatrist and therapist who’d been monitoring his so-called depression. He was more prone to throwing pants and glasses around to watch them shatter than devolving into puddles of tears however the doctor insisted that wasn’t exactly how depression worked. After she’d found him sitting on the balcony railing trying to see the sunset, she’d ordered him on suicide watch, an infuriating breach of privacy, and had outright refused to allow him to call Harry and demand to be taken home.

Her refusal had come with a guilt trip, a completely erroneous tree of causation that started with him leaving the facility and ended with Harry leaving him.

Theodore had thrown a vase at her.

Dr. Kerrigan had nodded and asked him if he wanted to try mood stabilizers.

Instead of brooding silently through group therapy, Theodore had spent the day hiding in bed until one of the staff had come to yank him our for a medical check and dinner he was required to eat since he’d skipped breakfast and lunch out of unadulterated rage.

The therapist had yet to grow on him, especially with her consisted denial of his Harry related requests.

Dr. Kerrigan nodded. “I’m still concerned about your depression but I think getting involved in outside activities will help that abate. The anger is also concerning but it may be linked to the ongoing detox. We’ll see. Next steps, we can definitely start focusing more on the 12-step program, counseling, music and art therapies, outdoor activities would be great. And I want to do a targeted one-on-one counseling sessions that discussion your history and how it links to your drug usage. I think the best way to move forward and keep you off drugs is a strong support system. So we’ll have to start by examining those connection.”

Theodore scoffed and shook his head. “I have nobody. My parents are scum. My adoptive family are good-diggers. My friends are too busy and self-involved to deal with me, and my boyfriend left me here to fucking rot and probably took my dog and house with him.”

Turning to him, Dr. Kerrigan raised her eyebrows. “If that’s how you feel, then I shouldn’t let you see him?”

Theodore stiffened, lips pressed together tightly. _He was here?_ He wanted to see Harry. Wanted to hug him and run him through. Kiss him and pushing him off a balcony. Beg him to take Theodore home and punish him by hurting him until he understood what Theodore went through.

The door opened, and his eyes landed on Harry, breath being taken away by the sight of him. He didn’t look well, anxious even, and softening when his gaze landed on Theodore.

His vanity struck for a moment, recognizing how awful he looked in all his detoxing glory, but it was swiftly replaced by a bold and uncompromising anger. That Harry couldn’t just love and accept Theodore for who he was. He had to stick him in this prison and force him to live through the worst pain he’d ever felt. To experience his body dying and screaming and throbbing and suffering in order to be good enough for Harry. Harry who didn’t know how to open up. Harry who was controlling. Harry who was mean just to watch Theodore squirm. Harry who couldn’t even maintain a relationship with his best friend.

How dare he try to change Theodore like he wasn’t good enough.

Their eyes met. Harry relaxed and stepped forward.

Theodore exploded.

“I fucking hate you!”

“What?”

“You’re a son of bitch, you know that? I thought you loved me. You lied to me, didn’t you? Just like everybody else. You don’t love me. You used me. Tried to change me. You left me here! I gave you everything I had and it wasn’t enough.”

“No,” Harry said shortly, “you gave me everything you were willing to give. That’s not everything, and that’s not enough.”

“You never loved me. You used me! And punished me for embarrassing you by putting me here! You never should have come back! Leave. Leave me alone! Don’t come back! Go away! I’ll go back to my life, and you go back to yours. Just forget this every happened so I can go back to the way I was! I was fine without you! I don’t need your help!”

Harry threw up his hands and shook his head while Dr. Kerrigan nodded serenely, making notes. “You know what? I have better things to do than deal with you. I’ve got Azadi’s break up and Alina’s solo album and Cris’s solo album and Breaking Fourth’s solo _projects_. And Charlie Beck’s Australian stunting and Patrick’s whatever he’s doing. Bailey and Salem. The Daiki Company. I do not have time for your bullshit attitude. Check it at the door. Sorry I want you not to die like Jimmy Morrison. My mistake, I’ll leave you to it.” He turned on his heel and slammed the door behind him.

The fight rushed out of Theodore in an instant.

He sank into his chair, hands gripping the arms and stared blankly at the wall, on the verge of hyperventilation.

Dr. Kerrigan nodded. “I can’t say I’m surprised.”

* * *

To: didoandcompany@gmail.com; f.adelaide@gmail.com

From: haroldbsterling@sterlingandireland.com

Subject: RE: RE: RE: Theodore Maverick

Play with me.

I have no interest in engaging you in this sort of inane conversation back and forth about the things of which you believe yourself deserving and the busy schedules both of you possess. I’m not an idiot. I didn’t ask you here out of the kindness of my heart, fingers crossed, praying you could make it. I asked you because it’s less than a three-hour trip from London to Annemasse. There’s no reason, Frank, that you should be unable to attend, class or not. And don’t act like you can’t make time, Dido Lynn. I know your schedule, and I know your husband’s schedule, and I have no interest in cajoling you into doing the only thing for your son you’ve ever done in your life. Either you commit to coming here for one therapy session so he can understand how he got into this position, or I release the birth certificate to the press. That will be a lot more trouble for the pair of you than it will for Maverick. Even without his participation, I can handle it. Make a decision before I make one.

Kindest regards,

Harry Benton-Sterling

* * *

**Day 21**

A knock on the door barely stirred Theodore in the slightest. He was curled in bed beneath the down comforter wearing a pair of jeans that he’d pulled on in the morning before he’d lost the will to go anywhere and returned to bed. His chest was covered by a long-sleeved _Walking Dead_ t-shirt, Qi burrowed between his abdomen and the shirt. Toghon slept on the pillow behind his head, both of them content by his desire to never leave his bed.

The cats had been given the okay to stay not long after Dr. Kerrigan had diagnosed him with depression, but Attila’s protective instincts had ruled him out. And what nobody had needed to say was that Harry had been resistant to giving up both his cats and his dog to Theodore.

The knock came again.

Theodore grimaced and peeked out from beneath the covers to gaze out over the hem of the comforter, eyes narrowed on the door.

When it was cracked open, Theodore glared when Dr. Kerrigan leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed over her chest.

“I don’t want to go anywhere.”

“Obviously,” Dr. Kerrigan agreed, eyebrows arched and shaking her head in clear argument to his point-of-view. This was exactly the problem he’d expect from rehab. All Theodore wanted to do was sleep away until he didn’t feel so exhausted, so empty, and no one would allow him that single thing. “You’re passed time to be coddled. Medically speaking, you’re sound enough to attend therapy sessions with regularity, and I expect you to. There’s no reason for you to be in this room and it won’t help you improve.”

Theodore sat up, hands gripping Qi when she jostled beneath his shirt. Toghon sat up, eyes on the bundle beneath Theodore’s shirt, tail twitching anxiously. His hair hung passed his shoulders, lank and scraggly, knotted. He needed to take a shower, needed to wash and brush his hair thoroughly. He just didn’t care enough, didn’t have enough energy or desire to make that sort of commitment or take that kind of effort to make himself presentable. Putting on pants so early in the morning had already pushed him to the limits of what exactly he could bear.

“What’s the point?” Theodore inquired hollowly, voice hoarse. “Give me a reason.”

“Your music.”

“Pointless, useless, shit.” Theodore deadpanned.

“Your life.”

“Like anyone fucking cares about that. I don’t even care. How can somebody else?” Theodore demanded irately.

“Harry.”

Theodore fell silent, tears prickling the corner of his eyes as he looked away.

He wanted to see Harry, be near him, apologize to him for the last time they’d spoken, beg him not to leave and not to give up and not to hate him. Theodore also didn’t want him near at all. Didn’t want him near enough to see the pit he’d fallen so deeply into, how far into the depths he’d sunk. Theodore didn’t want his presence to set off a chain reaction of fear, anger, and pain in Theodore that had him spewing the worst sort of vitriol and encouraged Harry more definitively not to put his faith in someone who’d already so thoroughly broken it.

Harry who was ignoring his phone calls and text messages and only responded to emails if they were professional in nature. Harry who’d left him adrift in the middle of turbulent sea with no navigational charts or even a map of where they were. A sea perhaps of Theodore’s own making, but one Harry had promised he wouldn’t swim alone. He needed guidance and support, and yet couldn’t help himself into devolving into screams and accusations every time they shared space together. Every time Theodore even thought of Harry at all, he wanted to scream in frustration and anger and injustice.

“Harry doesn’t give a fuck. Is he even in France anymore?”

Dr. Kerrigan smiled at him and raised her eyebrows, stroking a hand over Toghon’s soft fur when he hopped onto the back of the sofa to greet her. “He’s been talking with me. And Dr. Schwartz, and Dr. Pequot. She sent an orderly out yesterday to assess his…amiability after the last incident. He’s still in France. And he’s angry but not so furious that he just left without a word.” She looked over at him slyly and shook her head. “You know, you have quite a way of pissing that man off, you know? He kept you alive for three years.”

“I know,” Theodore snapped.

“Do you?” Dr. Kerrigan asked sitting on the coffee table. She crossed her legs, rested her chin on her fist and blinked at him. “Do you actually? I’ve seen a lot of detox-induced rage in my years, but that was focused. Do you resent him? Even a little?

“I don’t.”

“You don’t? You don’t resent him for putting limits on you? For watching your intake? For having people monitor you to keep you from doing things you’d regret.”

“He did that for me.”

“Did he? Or did he do it for him? To keep an eye on you because he couldn’t trust you. Because he was afraid you’d either kill yourself or ruin your relationship. A relationship that was yours to ruin.”

“He didn’t!”

“You’re right,” Dr. Kerrigan agreed brightly. “He didn’t…trust you. He didn’t trust you not to ruin your relationship. He didn’t trust you not to kill yourself. He didn’t trust you to do the right thing. Isn’t that right?”

“No,” Theodore said through clenched teeth.

“Isn’t it?”

“No,” he said sharper.

“Isn’t it?”

“Fine, it is! He didn’t trust me, is that what you want to hear? He spent years assuming I’d fuck up, and then acted surprised and self-righteous when I did. He treated me like a child and guilted me into this bullshit where I spend my days wallowing in self-pity, nauseous and aching, so that I’d be good enough for him. Like he’s perfect. Like he’s any better than me!” Theodore exploded, chest heaving, head throbbing, and surprised by his own vehemence.

Qi’s eyes peeked out from the hemline of his shirt, and she mewled softly.

His cheeks colored in embarrassment.

Dr. Kerrigan nodded sagely and rose to her feet. “Your boyfriend probably saved your life, and the resentment you feel for him is either fleeting or crippling, but we can’t know until you work through that anger without him. That’s what group counseling is for. If I put you in a room with him tomorrow, then you no longer have a boyfriend. So how do you want handle this?”

Theodore looked up at her, cradling Qi to his chest, and slowly tossed off the covers.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Irrational anger is the name of the game here.


	39. "Always" by The Him

To: haroldbsterling@sterlingandireland.com; f.adelaide@gmail.com

From: didoandcompany@gmail.com

Subject: RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: Theodore Maverick

In light of your most recent threat, I have discussed finding time to attend a couple of these therapy sessions in Châtel provided that you handle accommodations and with the assurance—in writing—that you will not publish this information in retaliation for any and every perceived slight.

Regards,

Dido Lynn Darby

 

**Text message from Rosie**

**Rosie:** She’s crazy

**Harry:** She wants me to sign paperwork saying I’ll never ever release the birth certificate

**Rosie:** That’s fucked up?

**Rosie:** Who leverages their spawn’s mental health for their image?

**Rosie:** That’s some fucked up bs right there. Who the actually fuck?

**Harry:** Dido Lynn Darby

**Rosie:** I always knew I hated that bitch

**Rosie:** We hate her, right?

**Rosie:** I’m coming to visit you in Châtel <3

**Harry:** I need love. Come love me

 

**Maverick (@MaverickOfficial)**

When I’m feeling the worst, my writing is always fantastic

 

**Irish Rose (@rosieposie)**

@HaroldBSterling @holdtheirish are out here making me feel like weak shit but it’s a mountain. We’re hiking a fucking mountain Wth?

 

**Holden Ireland (@holdtheirish)**

@rosieposie @HaroldBSterling it’s a hill.

 

**Harry Benton-Sterling (@HaroldBSterling)**

@rosieposie @holdtheirish it’s a mountain but like a little mountain. Get it together babes.

 

**Irish Rosie (@rosieposie)**

@HaroldBSterling listen Potter, I’m dying!!!

 

**Irial Dorian (@DorianII)**

@rosieposie @HaroldBSterling You went to France without me???? T.T

 

**Text message from Dr. Kerrigan**

**Dr. Kerrigan:** I think today would be a good day to begin family counseling sessions if you’re amenable to that.

**Harry:** I’m not really but I’ll come.

* * *

Theodore sat cross-legged on the back porch with his music notebook perched on the arm of the chair and his acoustic guitar in his lap. He needed a piano, some drums, a bass, and maybe a saxophone or trumpet to try and really encompass the feel most of the songs were going for. But at least they were coming. He’d written over a dozen in the week since he’d started regularly attending group sessions, the pain beginning to fade into something more like an ache that he could live with. He’d only likely use one from his darker days, but writing them, composing them, was helping him to improve.

The music therapist stood between Vanessa and the model with an eating disorder, Danyal, teaching them a little bit on the keyboard while the other two occupants joked over art therapy. The eldest gentlemen in residence Theodore had seen on the first day, Craig Lenore, was an entrepreneur and gambling addict who’d apparently gambled his family into bankruptcy before finally seeking help. The other was Matthew Halloran, a volleyball player addicted to heroin.

Vanessa looked over at him coolly, waggling her fingers and poking her tongue out of the corner of her mouth when she caught his eyes on her.

Rolling his eyes, Theodore jotted down another line before sticking the pen behind his ear and repeating the last bar he’d scribbled into the notebook, eyes closed and head tilted as he considered the song. He had a good feeling about this one. Of the growing pile of songs that he’d written, most would be trashed except one of the earlier ones, and probably this one too. When he got more deeply involved into therapy sessions, Theodore could only imagine what his songs would start to look like.

“Very nice, Theodore,” the music therapist, Miriam Amie, said to him brightly, drifting nearer. “Do you write about the past, the future, or the present?” She inquired with interest, pulling the small pad from her blouse breast pocket.

“All of that,” Theodore replied with a shrug, fingers continuing to move over the strings. He shrugged his shoulders and continued, “There’s no life to a song if you only look forwards or only look back. We’re not who we were and not yet who we will be. Everything that we are now affects the way we interpret our past and the way we approach the future.”

“You’ve had this conversation before,” Dr. Amie said with a soft smile.

Swallowing uneasily, Theodore forced a smile and nodded. “Yeah, with Harry.”

Dr. Amie’s smile turned sympathetic.

Theodore had been forcing himself not to wallow too deeply back into the lingering depression. A combination of antidepressants and therapy sessions had kept the worst of the depression’s symptoms at bay, but thinking about Harry and the unanswered messages and emails that he sent threatened to tip him. And Theodore would have to be okay with that. The clarity that was slowly coming with sobriety reminded him that Harry had helped him stay upright on the ledge until Theodore had corroded the ground he stood upon.

It wasn’t up to Harry to keep Theodore maintaining his emotional and mental stability. Theodore had to be strong enough to maintain this himself; that was the only way for their relationship—and Theodore’s sobriety—to survive.

Dr. Amie looked up and cleared her throat, eyes towards the front door of the chalet. Sitting up straighter, she smiled and gestured towards the door. Theodore turning around to find Dr. Pequot and Dr. Kerrigan standing in the doorway speaking softly to each other, insistently as well. His eyebrows furrowed while Dr. Amie patted his knee sympathetically.

“The doctor wants so see you,” Dr. Amie informed him gently.

Theodore looked over again and sighed, setting aside his guitar and walking cautiously towards the two doctors. He slipped his hand in his pocket, notebook beneath his arm and pressed against his side. Pausing awkwardly, he eyed them, wary and uncertain if he wanted to involve himself in this fight.

Dr. Kerrigan smiled at him and beckoned him forward while Dr. Pequot stewed uncertainly like she felt entirely uncomfortable with what was about to happen.

“It’s time for your one-on-one session.”

“It’s…not though,” Theodore hedged carefully. Of all his numerous therapy sessions, he remembered his one-on-ones with Dr. Kerrigan. She stripped him down to the bare bones of his denial until he dismantled that too, then left him alone to rebuild from the ashes of his deconstructed house of cards. It was horrifying and humiliating and necessary. He always remembered those appointments.

“Dr. Pequot isn’t certain, but I think it’s time. A month has been long enough, and we’re never going to move forward without burning some bridges.”

“Burning some bridges,” Dr. Pequot scoffed shaking her head. Theodore raised his eyebrows. “I’m not against it. I just think it’s too soon. I’m not certain you have the coping skills in place yet to handle a shake up of this magnitude should this not go the way we’re all hoping.” The words were a pointed jab towards Dr. Kerrigan who only smiled wider, unbothered by the criticism.

“Maybe he does, maybe he doesn’t. That’s why we’re here. Coddling him hasn’t gotten Theodore anywhere. It’s time to push his comfort level and test his limits. Besides, Harry Benton-Sterling will either be an excellent way to build coping skills or your strongest supporter. It’s time to stop wondering if the cat’s dead and look into the box to find out for certain, you understand?”

Theodore opened his mouth, closed it, and frowned, shaking his head slightly.

“Schrodinger’s Cat?”

“Got it in one,” Dr. Kerrigan said with a smile, clapping her hands together. “You ready to see him?”

“No,” Theodore admitted. “If I don’t know, then I can pretend we’re okay.”

Dr. Kerrigan shook her head, sympathy on her face but disagreement with his assumptions evident. “You can’t though. Sometimes wondering is worse than not knowing, and when the realization comes, you’ll crash harder than you did with heroin. You need to know where you stand with him in order move forward from here. And he needs to know where he stands with you to understand if he wants to. This is a two-way street, and it’s time we opened the gates and communicated, don’t you think?”

Theodore grimaced but didn’t disagree, anticipation warring in his gut with anxiety.

Still scowling, Dr. Pequot nodded as Dr. Kerrigan led him through the chalet to her office in the back row of counseling rooms.

Dr. Kerrigan’s office was third from the end overlooking a small field surrounded by trees. It wasn’t much, a small but still spacious square room, but she’d tried her hardest to make it both warm and comforting to her patients. Some people appreciated her décor, but Vanessa seemed to hate it—and _her_ —with a passion. Danyal thought Vanessa had come onto the doctor and been turned down. With her vehement rage towards the therapist, Theodore wouldn’t be the least bit surprised to find out that was more than a vicious rumor.

The walls were painted a soft cream, a round patterned carpet over the wood floors that only partially matched the burnt orange and crimson curtains hanging from the windows. Her desk was a dark oak desk with a large, leather armchair behind it. Bookshelves full of psychology and history textbooks were built into the walls, but most of the space was taken up by the couch facing away from the windows across from two worn old armchairs. Harry sat in the latter with Attila lying at his feet, perking up and wagging his tail when he saw Theodore while Harry watched him in stony silence.

Despite the anger and awkwardness lingering in the air, Theodore couldn’t help but drink in the sight of him. Harry was always gorgeous, always put together and seeing him walk around the house in sweatpants and tank tops was a privilege few people ever saw. Today was no different. His black suit was accented with a Dolce and Gabbana bee and crown button-down shirt and a shimmering gold ascot tie, fedora holding back his chin-length cinnamon hair. His green eyes seemed too close to dull and flat, cheap leather loafers rather than a borrowed pair of Theodore’s endless collection of overpriced boots the only outward sign of their fighting.

Theodore’s eyes fell on the bracelet around his wrist, jaw setting angrily.

He’s seen a matching on Twitter and hadn’t entirely made the connection until now. He knew that she’d come, knew they were close—best friends even—but that didn’t make him anymore comfortable with the situation.

Suddenly furious and still awkward, Theodore settled onto the edge of the chair across from Harry. The man’s eyes never left him, inscrutable and seemingly judging the whole journey to his seat and crouching down to sit. Attila, at least, remembered he loved Theodore, crawling across the carpet excitedly to curl at his feet and exposing his stomach to be pet, heedless to the tense. Dr. Kerrigan sat down in her chair behind the desk and appraised them.

“I think you both have a lot to talk about, but there’s only one thing I want out of this session,” Dr. Kerrigan started tonelessly.

“And what’s that?” Harry practically purred, eyes narrowed dangerously.

“We’ll get there, but I think we get there by starting with the root of a lot of your issues. _Not_ Theodore’s drug use, but rather your mutual insecurities.” Theodore tensed, lips pressed together and eyes wide as he turned to Dr. Kerrigan who gave him no quarter, nowhere to run, and no mercy. “We’ve discussed this topic a great deal in our sessions, Theodore. You can begin. Tell Harry what you told me. About Rosie.”

Theodore was dead silent, Harry turning to him, and a pin drop audible in the deafening quietude.

“I thought we were passed this,” Harry sighed, rubbing a hand over his forehead. Theodore cringed while Dr. Kerrigan’s eyebrows rose. Harry noticed and amended, “I’m not accusing anyone. I just honestly thought we’d discussed this and moved on.”

Dr. Kerrigan looked to Theodore.

“I…I just…she’s.” He stopped and wetted his lips while Harry watched him. “You’re not like me and Alina. You slept with her. You dated her. You _love_ her. She’s got a great family and everyone thinks you two should be together or are together. I mean, how am I supposed to compete with that?”

Harry fell silent, tilting his head to study Theodore quietly. Theodore flushed while Harry shrugged. “You’re not. You’re not competing. What everyone else thinks doesn’t matter. Rosie and I are very clear on who we are and where we stand. She’s been dating Benji almost as long as I’ve been dating you! And we weren’t practically married like Charlie and Salem, and they’re just fine.”

Theodore colored and cleared his throat uncomfortably, feeling too much like he’d been scolded.

“What Theodore needs is clarity,” Dr. Kerrigan explained for him. “The policy you two agreed on requiring honesty works great as long as both of you recognize honesty extends to pasts and motivations not just answering questions. He needs to know why him and not Rosie. Why him and not somebody else.”

Harry looked over at him, and Theodore avoided his eyes uncomfortably. Slowly, Harry nodded. “I was a total slut in uni.” Theodore looked up at him sharply and Harry shrugged, smiling slightly. “I’m not ashamed. I was young and felt finally free to do whatever I wanted, and I met Irial at a party and we had a one night stand.”

Theodore felt like he’d been sucker punched. “You didn’t tell me that,” he said softly.

Cringing, Harry blushed slightly. “I usually forget. It’s not something I’m proud of. But I met Rosie the next morning; she was his dormmate. He doesn’t know, but we started dating pretty quickly after. But we were young and testing our sexualities, and we decided that we could date and see other people as long as nothing got serious.” Theodore must have looked skeptical because Harry laughed a little and nodded in agreement. “It didn’t work. So we broke up and tried again just before graduation, and I love Rosie. She’s the best part of my life, but I can’t be in love with her. I’m attracted to her, but it’s fleeting and superficial, and loving her like a friend—albeit a friend with benefits—isn’t the same as building a life with someone. I’m not capable of that with her—with women.” Harry grimaced as he said it, like he was embarrassed to admit that before shrugging it off. “And you understand me in a way similar to Rosie does but also much deeper than that.”

Theodore’s eyes watered, and he looked away, feeling himself relax.

Homoromantic bisexual, they called it. At least, that’s what he remembered from his brief spree reading up on the LGBTQ community years ago. Technically, Theodore fell into that category, or he put himself into it mentally. He’d never been attracted to a girl—physically or emotionally—while sober, but something clearly didn’t mind the fairer sex when he inhaled a line of cocaine.

“Any questions you have for Theodore?”

“Why not Ali?” Harry asked without a pause.

Theodore shrugged meekly. “Ali’s great, and I thought we could have something in high school even with my issues, but then I found out his. I can deal with the constant shift between male and female as a friend, but I couldn’t live without that kind of fluctuation, that kind of uncertainty, and knowing Ali has a penis doesn’t make me want to fuck him anymore when he’s Alina rather than Ali. Genderfluidity might work for some people, but it doesn’t for me.” Theodore said with outright honesty, not bothering to temper his words.

Dr. Kerrigan nodded and finished jotting down notes in her book before looking between them, Harry and Theodore meeting each other’s gazes only to look away hastily. “I believe the question becomes about trust. Theodore wants to trust you not to leave like everyone else. But you want him to be…what?”

“Trustworthy!” Harry exploded, “I want him to be trustworthy. I want to not be worried every time he leaves the house.”

“It only happened once,” Theodore cut him off curtly.

Harry threw up his hands and jabbed, “And if everyone on your Twitter told you I was fucking Rosie, how would you feel? And how would you feel if you called to ask me for confirmation, and I said I didn’t know, that I didn’t remember?”

Dr. Kerrigan swung her gaze to consider his response as well. His face pinched at the thought. Furious, he’d be furious. Alina-levels of I’ll break things and set them on fire furious. And he’d feel completely justified for destroying things. His stomach twisted, tears welled in his eyes, and he fisted his hands looking away hastily.

“But I didn’t,” Theodore felt compelled to remind him, words a whisper and cracking at the end.

“But you didn’t know,” Harry informed him, losing his composure, eyes glistening. He rolled his eyes to stare up at the ceiling as if silently willing gravity to keep the tears in his ducts while Attila hesitated between them, whining. “You didn’t know. So I didn’t know. And I can’t live with that uncertainty. All I want is not to be betrayed like my dad. And if I can’t have that, then I don’t want this. I don’t think that’s too much to ask.”

“Do you think you can forgive him for this?” Dr. Kerrigan asked the question weighing on Theodore’s soul like the words weren’t weighted by stones.

Harry sighed and ran a hand over his face, displacing his hat slightly as he fisted his hand into his hair. “There’s nothing to forgive, he didn’t do anything. He just might have done something, and didn’t know if he did.”

Theodore winced at every word.

Dr. Kerrigan chuckled, making Harry’s gaze snap towards her. “Harry,” she said gently, “that’s forgiveness. For the things he _did_ , and those consequences including not knowing the full extent of the damage. Knowing he’s trying and we’re working on his coping mechanisms, can you forgive him?”

Exhaling shakily, Theodore gazed at Harry pleadingly through eyes wet with unshed tears. Harry shook his head and avoided Theodore’s gaze.

“I can’t take another betrayal. I can’t take another person casting me aside. I can’t take that. It’s better to leave first,” Harry confessed breathlessly, words spilling from his mouth so fast his lungs couldn’t provide him with enough air. Theodore winced as he realized how far this scenario had set Harry back, like he was a child again being tossed aside by his mother, world imploding on the day that was supposed to be his celebrations. “How much am I expected to endure just because I love him? And okay maybe I won’t automatically assume he fucked her next time, but what if there’s a next time? How do I live with that? How could anyone live with that kind of uncertainty? How do I trust him after this?” Harry asked, angrily wiping tears from his cheek.

Theodore reeled back, hand covering his mouth to stifle his sobs.

Harry looked away from both him and Dr. Kerrigan like tears weren’t leaking from his eyes.

“Do you love him?”

“Yes,” Harry confessed in a whisper, breaking Theodore’s heart all the more.

“Do you believe he can change?”

Harry paused longer this time while Theodore could hear his heart pounding in his chest. Finally, he whispered, “Yes.”

“Then everything else I can help you fix.”

Harry looked over at him then, and Theodore felt himself breathe. A watery smile left his lips, and Harry softened visibly, holding his gaze as he nodded.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Therapy! Well, the start of therapy. I don't put a ton of sessions between Theodore and Harry in this story because, I mean, it's therapy but honestly their relationship wouldn't survive without it. There's deeper issues at play that affect Theodore's behavior and choices so those will be the primary focus in his therapy journey. His relationships with his family (biological and adopted) are the root of his problems, his drug behavior and issues with Harry are just symptomatic.


	40. "Over That" by Emily Vaughn

**Group MMS: Harry, Rosie, Irial**

**Irial:** Should we do a weekend trip to Geneva?

**Rosie:** Ughhhhh noooooo Switzerland…

**Harry:** Switzerland is fucking expensive

**Harry:** I can’t go anyway. I’m busy for the time being.

**Irial:** …you’re always busy.

**Harry:** I’m not in France on holiday

**Rosie:** Yeah I know you’re all boring and adult-y

**Irial:** -_-

 

To: teddymaverick96@gmail.com

Cc: haroldbsterling@sterlingandireland.com; preston.duke@godfreygroup.com; rosemaryireland@sterlingandireland.com

From: santiagoreyes@gmail.com

Subject: RE: Composition

Mav,

I know that you’re not entirely certain when you’ll be ready to return to London, but if you want to send me the songs you’re interested in recording, then Rosie said she’d let me use your studio to record the music for it. I can send you the finished instrumentals, and we can go from there.

Santiago

 

**Teddy Langston (@TM_1996)**

I don’t think I’ve ever talked so much in all my life. So much talking and introspection.

 

**Maverick (@MaverickOfficial)**

The cat is sleeping on my keyboard…obviously the female one O.0

 

**Lisa (@SweetLisssssa)**

@MaverickOfficial does this mean you’re writing the next album while on vacay?

 

**Maverick (@MaverickOfficial)**

@SweetLisssssa should I not? Too soon?

 

**Kristaboo <3 (@PhilippinoKrista)**

@MaverickOfficial Write it!!!! YESSSSS we’ve been waiting so long for the next album. I’m so ready #maveratics

 

**Radio Interview with Alyce and Jameson**

**Alyce:** You’re on holiday right now, though. Are you enjoying it?

**Maverick:** Enjoyment really isn’t the right term. I needed it, but it’s definitely not the holiday most people are picturing.

**Jameson:** Well a little birdie told me you’re trying to repair your relationship after the debacle with Ember Caraleigh…

**Alyce:** But you didn’t even do anything with her!

**Maverick:** This trip has been very educational, and I had to face parts of myself I’d rather not still. And it’s not about what I did or didn’t do. It’s about being so blotto that when I was asked if there was truth to the rumor, I didn’t know. That’s a lot to come back from.

**Alyce:** I understand, I do. Do you think you’ll be able to come back from that?

**Maverick:** It’s honestly too soon to tell. We’re trying. _I’m_ trying, but that’s a lot of trust to repair. It’s been good for my music though.

 

To: didoandcompany@gmail.com

Cc: f.adelaide@gmail.com

From: haroldbsterling@sterlingandireland.com

Subject: RE: RE: Flight Information

You’re both arriving on the same day. And as much as it pains me, I’ll be picking both of you up at the airport. You’ll both stay with me at the chalet; there’s plenty of room for all of us, and the next day we’ll attend the session with Theodore.

Harry Benton-Sterling

 

**Child found wandering Argos in Ipswich**

An Argos employee in Ipswich found a three-year-old boy wandering the aisles of the store at closing time, his parents nowhere in sight. “I remember seeing him in the morning,” another employee admitted, “but he didn’t seem lost so I figured his mother was around and he’d just wandered.” At the end of the day, however, in an empty shop, the boy remained alone as well as silent. “He didn’t speak, not anything, not even his name,” Mira Feehan, who found the boy, explained. The young boy has since been taken to authorities. The Ipswich police commented, “We’ve contacted Child Protective Services and are looking into finding his family as we speak.” The search has yet to yield results beyond a grainy photo of a woman who might likely be the boy’s mother caught on the store’s security footage.

**Comments:**

**alejasandro:** what the actual fuck? who does shit like this?

**jonass8721:** They’re looking into his family? How about they find his bitch ass mother and throw her in jail

**1616kya:** NO ONE REALIZES THIS KID IS MISSING?

**njgrete:** Where is his father? What about grandparents? This kid really just has no one?

 

**Text message from Peter Weinbrook**

**Peter Weinbrook:** I’ll admit I am not equipped to handle this

**Harry:** Do I even want to know what ‘this’ is?

**Peter Weinbrook:** I’ve spoken to Pat’s agent, Oliver Cole

**Peter Weinbrook:** We’re prepared to hire you on a consulting basis to handle this

**Harry:** Send the contract to Alexander Sullivan, my solicitor

**Harry:** I’ll call you so we can discuss the details

 

**Text message from Rosie**

**Rosie:** Geneva Airport to London Stansted. I’ll pick you up and drive you to the Ipswich police station.

* * *

“It’ll be okay,” Harry promised in his ear.

“ _Sir, you have to shut off your phone now…_ ” a flight attendant said snappishly. Theodore smiled slightly, shaking his head and stroking a hand over Toghon’s fluffy black fur. The cat’s skin twitched, drawing another smile to Theodore’s lips.

“Yes, ma’am,” Harry said, voice muffled as he spoke to her. There was a rustling over the line before Harry returned, voice having lowered to a whisper. “Listen, I’ll be honest here. Your parents suck. If you expect them to come and embrace you, don’t. Whatever Dido Lynn said last time you spoke to her that sent you spiraling, she’s so unwilling to come have this discussion that it very well may be ten times worse now.”

Theodore swallowed uncertainly, hand trembling as he grabbed the water bottle on the bedside table, taking a swig in a futile effort to calm his nerves.

Dr. Kerrigan had said much the same thing when she’d spoken to him, but hearing Harry outright state how much his biological parents sucked only hammered in the truth harder. He ought to talk to Curtis and Mabel. Wanted to, but also didn’t know what he’d say to them. Prior to his rehabilitation, Theodore had spoken to his father with regularity, but that had fallen to the wayside in the midst of writing, therapy, and aftershocks from his detox that had him lying in the sauna for hours and being prodded by the nurses in residence to double check his blood pressure and heart rate for symptoms of damage beyond the obvious.

Harry might have kept them updated, but Theodore hadn’t asked. He wasn’t sure he was ready to address his mother and what that betrayal looked like to him. If he saw them now, contacted them after meeting his biological parents, Theodore feared he’d be so desperate for love and acceptance, he’d apologize like he’d done something wrong. But he hadn’t, Mabel had and couldn’t even admit that the fault had been hers. She had betrayed him and kept trying to justify the behavior, and Theodore shouldn’t have to apologize for his response to that sort of injustice.

“I know,” Theodore said hoarsely.

“You’ve got me. And you’ve got my family. And whenever you find it in you to reach out again, you’ll have Curtis and Mabel too. Don’t let them set you back. They’re both too self-involved—”

“ _Sir, we’re taxiing. The phone has to be off. We’ve discussed this._ ”

“—to love you the way you deserve or apologize for what happened the way that they should. Not that there’s anything wrong with surrendering a child to state custody…” Harry trailed off thoughtfully. “In certain circumstances, but they both had the means and ability to support you, they just didn’t _want to_ which is fucking—”

“ _Sir, if you don’t hang up the phone, I will have the captain return the plane to the gate and ensure you’re escorted off._ ”

Theodore stifled laughter as Harry continued, unbothered by the threat.

“—ridiculous. How dare they sit there and be self-righteous and pissy about having to come and…fine, fine. It’s fine. They’re not my parents. It’s not my fight, but you’re not alone, Teddy. I’ll call you when I land okay?”

“Take care of the kid, Harry.”

“Yeah, well I’m already so overwhelmed…okay, sorry. I have to go before I’m ejected out the back door DB Cooper style,” Harry stated coolly, the words a clear jab at the flight attendant who was only doing her job.

“ _We don’t do that. Sir!_ ”

“Behave, Harry,” Theodore chastised him lightly. “I love you.”

“Love you too. I gotta go. Listen, ma’am, I’m so—” Harry’s voice cut off abruptly as the call terminated.

Theodore stared at his phone for a moment before setting it aside.

This was Harry’s job, cleaning up messes, going where he was needed to handle problems before they spiraled out of control. And as much as Theodore wanted him here to hold his hand through the conversation he’d been waiting for his whole life, Theodore didn’t need Harry more than that little boy who’d been abandoned by his mother in Ipswich and whose life was about to be turned upside down completely.

These last few months had been about learning to stand up on his own without crutches to support him. Theodore hadn’t realized how often Harry had softened blows, sugarcoated, and outright interfered until his therapist had told Harry to stop and let Theodore absorb those blows on his own. He wanted Harry to be here with him, but Theodore had to be strong enough that he didn’t need that support to make it through the conversation. He’d always been alone, and Theodore needed to learn how to be okay with himself by himself, to be comfortable standing alone even when he didn’t have to.

Rising to his feet, Theodore tied his hair up and put on his glasses. He felt too dressed up for the occasion in a pair of jeans, a patterned Burberry sweater, and boots. Tugging nervously at the hem of his sweater, Theodore shook off his nerves, scratched beneath Toghon’s chin one last time, and tucked his mobile phone into his back pocket before starting towards the door.

Stepping into the hallway, he found Vanessa chatting amicably with Matthew about places they’d both traveled to, sprawled across the hallway playing a game of Blackjack while Craig stood in the doorway salivating over the chance to gamble. Rolling his eyes, Theodore bumbled through their game, meeting Craig’s eyes over their complaints and nodding at their grateful look there.

Each step towards Dr. Kerrigan’s office felt like his bones had been replaced by cement. His stomach twisted nervously, palms sweating, and nausea rising in him with a vengeance. A heavy sense of dread settled on his shoulders culminating when he reached the door, hand on the latch. The nurses and orderlies walking passed pretended not to notice his hesitance and dismay.

Theodore inhaled deeply and twisted the latch, pulling open the door and stepping into the room.

Dido Lynn Darby and Franklin Adelaide sat on the sofa across the room with an entire cushion between them and twin looks of displeasure on their faces.

Franklin Adelaide was pudgy with a distinct look of a distinguished English professor in khaki pants and a white cashmere sweater beneath a blazer. He sipped a cup of tea as if this were an ordinary meeting with a student at a nearby café, seemingly unconcerned with the atmosphere. His eyes were the same teal as Theodore’s but otherwise, Theodore thought they didn’t look much alike at all.

Dido Lynn Darby, on the other hand, shared much of the similar facial features with him only his were hardened and masculine. Her hair was an ombre brown, skin caramel, and eyes dark. She looked surprisingly demure for such a striking and present person in a pair of simple black leggings beneath a long asymmetric shirt, a blazer, and a pair of ankle boots with only the slightest heel. Her wedding band glittered, obtrusive in its largesse, and nearly as excessive as the rest of her dripping jewelry paying homage to her success as an artist and belief that she didn’t need to be here.

Dr. Kerrigan looked unimpressed with both of their attitudes, watching them from behind her desk and scribbling notes into her pad. When her eyes met Theodore’s, she tipped her head towards the chair. He grimaced but shut the door, sitting down where she instructed.

Franklin studied him clinically, like he was searching for the similarity between them and didn’t find much to celebrate.

“And again, you drag me into your…lifestyle,” Dido Lynn said with a sneer.

“It was his boyfriend this time,” Franklin reminded her. “Never minding his own business. Always with the threats.”

“Would you have come otherwise?” Theodore asked.

Franklin grimaced while Dido Lynn shrugged, “No.”

Dr. Kerrigan nodded sagely. “You don’t think it’s important for you to sit down and address some of Theodore’s issues with him?”

“We’re not his parents. What had we contributed to him that’s damaged him so much? We weren’t there,” Dido reminded Dr. Kerrigan dismissively.

Franklin shrugged and sipped his tea in agreement.

Theodore blinked at her, mouth falling ajar slightly. “Exactly,” he said, the pair turning towards him curiously. “You weren’t there. You contributed to everything. If you’d been there instead of abandoning me to the borough custody, then I wouldn’t have endured half the things I did, or have half the problems I currently do.”

Shaking his head, Franklin sighed and rubbed his forehead with exasperation. “Perhaps, but we all have problems. Yours would only be different.”

“And you’re hardly suffering,” Dido Lynn sneered. “You’re one of the most famous celebrities in the world. The richest man under twenty-five in the United States. Are we supposed to apologize for that? Do you think you’d be where you are if you hadn’t been in the situations you’d been in?”

“Maybe not,” Theodore said in disbelief, “but I’d probably be better for it.”

“And would you have met your boyfriend?” Franklin deflected while Dido Lynn rolled her eyes in irritation.

Theodore laughed bitterly, completely in disbelief by what he was hearing from them, the outright dismissal from them and the insistence that he’d been better off being abandoned.

“This is not about what-ifs. Whatever his life is now, the discussion is about understanding your actions, and you understanding the consequences of your decisions,” Dr. Kerrigan cut them off sharply, eyes narrowed on Dido Lynn and Franklin, both of them remaining unapologetic. Theodore didn’t feel tears welling but rather a mounting frustration by their complete dismissal and lack of remorse. “Do you have any idea what kind of situation you put your son in when you decided to abandon him? Do you know anything about his history? Or have you being imagining this from the denial of people insistent that they’re right without knowing any of the facts?”

Dido Lynn bristled, “I’m an excellent mother.”

“To _some_ of your children, yes,” Dr. Kerrigan agreed without pause.

Her face purpled with rage, and Dr. Kerrigan raised a hand to cut her off while Franklin sighed.

“Dido, isn’t that quite enough?” Franklin asked her without a hint of sympathy. He seemed resigned to this rapid escalation of circumstance. “I think it’s ludicrous we’re being blamed for a drug problem he developed all by himself, but I’m not going to argue about this. If he believes that, he believes it. I just don’t understand what we’re here to talk about.”

Dr. Kerrigan’s eyes slid to Theodore.

He tapped his thumb on his knee and studied the two people across from them, his need to acquiesce and be appreciated warring with his newfound desire to make them understand that they’d played a very large and prevalent part in fucking him up before he’d even understood what that meant.

Dido Lynn laughed and ran her fingers through her hair. “He doesn’t even know.”

A grim look crossed Dr. Kerrigan’s face as she scribbled into her pad.

Theodore’s gaze snapped to Dido Lynn, and whatever she saw on his face killed her smile instantly.

“When I was a year old I was hospitalized for Shaken Baby Syndrome.” The room quieted instantly, Franklin’s gaze sharpening on him. Theodore smiled slightly and leaned back in his seat. “Apparently I had colic and wouldn’t stop crying so my foster mother shook me to keep me quiet. Her ten year old foster daughter called the ambulance when I turned blue. I was almost adopted when I was three, but the woman got pregnant so they kicked me out. When I was five I broke my arm and collarbone after being thrown down a flight of stairs when my foster father got drunk. I was seven when I starved for the first time; I used to steal baguette from the Cooperative down the street from the house so I could eat. The foster home I was in when I was eight fed me once a day—maybe—locked us out of the house when they thought we got too loud. I slept on the streets behind the building most nights until a neighbor reported them after my foster brother got frostbite.”

Theodore could see the dawning horror creeping into their faces. Franklin’s more than Dido Lynn’s. Her face looked more like a scowl of alarm and a realization that her insistence that they’d done right by him was entirely baseless.

“I was nine the first time I knew my foster father was a pedophile. Boys, girls, it didn’t matter as long as they were young. He beat me when I helped my foster sister run away, but then I was the only target since my foster brother was too young for his tastes. I ran away when I was ten, and when my social worker asked why I told her he’d touched me. She brought me back and asked him if it was true. He swore it wasn’t and they left me there. He beat me so hard that the neighbors called the police for a noise complaint, and I was hospitalized with internal bleeding, a concussion, four broken ribs, a fractured pelvis, and anal tearing.”

Dido Lynn covered her mouth and looked like she was going to throw up.

“The group home was better. I mean it was hard to get food, and I had to carry what little belongings I had in a garbage bag, but at least no one was hitting me and touching me.” Franklin winced, lips pressed together tightly. “But then they sent me to this woman. She was mean as a snake. She used food as a weapon and knew how to torture us mentally, emotionally, physically. Then she would let us drink until we couldn’t remember how bad it was, and she would touch us too. She liked little boys. And I ran away from that home too with my foster brother. He got stabbed while we were on the run, buying drugs from this gangbanging dealer.” Theodore shrugged dismissively, growing progressively colder. “They brought me back, and I ran away again. Three times before my social worker put me back in a group home. Apparently that’s uncommon, and having such a regular streak of horrible foster parents probably is. But everyone has one. I’ve never met a happy foster kid who’s never been hit or starved or abused. There’s always one.”

Franklin’s hand trembled where he tried to raise the teacup to his lips. Slowly, he lowered the cup back to its saucer on the table beside the sofa’s arm. Dido Lynn didn’t quite know what to do with herself.

Harry had had that look too when Theodore had finally confessed just how bad his childhood had been. The physical and emotional abuse, Harry had had an idea about, but the extent things had gone was always overwhelming. He’d been stifling tears, holding Theodore’s gaze as he’d broken down on the sofa before excusing himself to vomit into the toilet in the bathroom at the end of the hall. But that had been an entirely different experience than reiterating that to the people who’d put him in that position and then insisted they were in the right to do so.

“So go ahead, tell me again how this was better for me. Tell me why you were in the right for handing me over to a city that couldn’t afford to care for me and people who either wanted money or power or to prey kids who can’t run away. Go ahead and tell me about how everything I experienced would be different if I hadn’t been abandoned in the best way possible. I want to hear.”

Dido Lynn looked towards Franklin uncertainly.

“We didn’t know…” he started slowly.

“Of course you didn’t,” Theodore said cruelly, unforgiving of their sudden contriteness. “But you knew that I was black enough that adoption was unlikely. And you knew that the foster system was overcrowded, underfunded, and Russian roulette with my safety. And you knew that both of you could take care of me, but God forbid your daughter find out you’d cheated on her dead mother or fans thought you were a slut for giving birth so young. You knew I’d look for you eventually so you covered it up so I couldn’t access those records until a hacker dragged them out of the Home Office archives. You knew enough! I didn’t have to take cocaine, and I didn’t have to drink alcohol, but you know what? For half an hour I didn’t remember all the people who’d hurt me and all the pedophiles who’d touched me and all the people I’d known who died and all the social workers who’d ignored me. I didn’t remember, and you wouldn’t have wanted to either. So what do you have to say to me? What was so pressing that you couldn’t take care of me? What did you do for me that was so right and improved my life so much?”

Dido Lynn’s eyes were glazed over with unshed tears. She cleared her throat uncomfortably and shook her head. “Nothing. There’s nothing to say,” she confessed softly.

Theodore nodded in agreement, “No, there’s not.”

Franklin and Dido Lynn exchanged uncomfortable looks while Theodore nodded and fought the encroaching panic. He felt better though. He didn’t need to know their reasons as much as he needed them to know what their selfishness had cost him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I'm late but today was my I'm-so-sick-if-I-look-at-a-computer-screen-a -knife-stabs-through-my-brain day.
> 
> I mean it was probably a fairly easy guess Theodore had a traumatic experience in foster care. I don't know much about the British foster system so this is based on horror stories my mom encountered at a shelter for teenage runaways in the US. It's probably statistically unlikely to get this many bad foster homes but honestly with as overworked as the case workers are, the level of policing just isn't there to make this a safe environment. Group homes I actually learned about when I had to do church school. A man came in and talked about his experience in foster care. Yikes.


	41. "Then" by Anne-Marie

**Text message from Harry**

**Harry:** How did things go?

**Theodore:** They didn’t say much, but I feel better. Lighter. Like I’m not so tight.

**Harry:** You go ahead and slay your psycho bio parents.

**Theodore:** Lmao. How’s the kid?

**Harry:** Jfc. Definitely Patrick Gallgher’s. I had to blackmail a social worker to let him go home with Charlie Beck instead of a group home

**Theodore:** Did the stuff I gave you about her help?

**Harry:** Of course. There’s nothing scarier than public opinion. Especially when you work with kids

**Theodore:** Savage

**Harry:** You love it.

**Theodore:** Fuck them seriously.

 

**Maverick (@MaverickOfficial)**

Heads up ya’ll

 

**Nicci (@Forever &Always)**

@MaverickOfficial but what does that mean????

 

**YouTube Channel, Real Talk Daily: Dido Lynn Darby’s Announcement**

**Aidan:** I can’t even pretend I’m not shocked. I’m a huge fan of Dido Lynn Darby so when she went onto Oprah saying she had a huge announcement I was totally stoked for a surprise album or a concert or an appearance on _Days of Our Lives._

**Mckinley:** Well, I’m a total Maverick stan but I didn’t totally get the connection when he Tweeted out a heads up the other day. But for those of you who don’t know, Dido Lynn Darby when on Oprah to announce that when she was eighteen, she gave birth to a baby in secret after wrapping up her European tour in 1996.

**Aidan:** And if that wasn’t enough, she opened up about who her son was—

**Mckinley:** Maverick! Dido Lynn Darby is Maverick’s biological mother! I really don’t know what to do with this.

**Aidan:** Apparently she only recently found out, and they’ve discussed it.

**Mckinley:** But if you think he’s forgiven her for putting him in foster care, you’d be wrong. His team released a statement following the announcement saying, “Maverick and Dido Lynn have discussed their relationship in depth, and despite coming to terms, Maverick has no intention of pursuing a relationship with either of his biological parents.”

**Aidan:** Petty.

**Mckinley:** I don’t know. He had a rough time in foster care, and I can’t imagine he was thrilled to find out his mother could have taken care of him but cared more about her image than about her son.

**Aidan:** We don’t know what the circumstances were.

**Mckinley:** Right.

 

To: haroldbsterling@sterlingandireland.co.uk

Cc: beck.charlie69@gmail.co.uk

From: alexandersullivan@sterlingandireland.co.uk

Subject: The kid

Harold,

I’ve already draft up gag orders for everyone involved, and I’m working on the ones for the press for when they inevitably get wind of this. Social services worked with me and managed to get a temporary guardianship drawn up so that you can take Patrick’s son home.

Also, the DNA results got sent to me from Ralph’s lab and confirmed it’s Patrick’s son. Rosie went ahead and sent the information to Patrick’s manager, and we’ll get the paperwork drawn up for his custody. I have Brandon tracking down Keslie Klein as we speak, but it seems likely that she left the country. Obviously that won’t stop us from getting a hold of her the way it’ll stop the police, but understand that it’ll probably get messy.

You can take the boy home, though. I’ve got all the necessary documents being faxed to you can bring him back, but I can’t get him a rush identification document for him fast enough for you to take a flight so you’ll need to catch a train or drive down from Ipswich.

Alexander Sullivan

 

**Text message to Harry**

**Charlie:** Im ignoring them

**Harry:** Which them?

**Charlie:** All of them.

**Charlie:** How’s Patty’s management?

**Harry:** More cooperative than yours.

**Charlie:** Fuck.

 

**Text message from Theodore**

**Theodore:** I’m supposed to be relaxing in yoga class.

**Theodore:** What’s the problem?

**Harry:** What isn’t the problem? Bailey’s bitching at the press about rumors of a fling with a Japanese girlbander and buying apartments with Salem. Charlie’s people are saying he can’t we out him. Patrick’s people want me to control all this crap about his surprise son Raleigh

**Harry:** Then there’s everything with Alina

**Harry:** And Breaking Fourth is starting promotion for their new album.

**Harry:** And just everything involving the Daiki Company

**Harry:** And Ember Caraleigh’s people decided to sue so I have to slap them down

**Harry:** I’m very overwhelmed

**Theodore:** I’m doing yoga.

**Harry:** Fuck u -.-

**Harry:** I booked a flight for your parents to come in from Geneva.

**Theodore:** Wowowowowow you suck

**Harry:** <3

* * *

Getting reprieve from the rehabilitation center didn’t come as a surprise. He’d come in at the end of April and by early August, Dr. Pequot and Dr. Kerrigan agreed that Theodore had enough coping mechanisms in place not to slip up while he went into Châtel for a dinner with his family.

Harry had had them flown in from New Orleans, but instead of bringing Mabel and Curtis in to Alpine-Francais, Theodore had thought he had enough control to maneuver through this particular disappointment himself. Whether or not Harry believed that, he’d agreed to facilitate the discussion without dropping hints to the doctors about what would actually be going on when he went into town for lunch.

He tapped the tips of his fingers against the steering wheel, humming happily. The wind from the window blew through his hair letting in the heat of a dying summer. His glasses were pushed to the top of his head, one arm hanging out the open window and moving with the current of the wind. In the side-view mirror, Theodore could see Attila hanging his head outside, tongue hanging out of his mouth and eyes squinted happily as the wind rustled through his short fur. Harry had his feet on the dashboard, eyebrows furrowed as he studied something on his phone.

Huffing, he tossed the mobile into a cupholder and tipped his head back against the chair.

“Problem?”

“Technically, Preston’s _your_ problem,” Harry retorted coolly. Cracking open his eyes, he turned towards Theodore and narrowed his eyes. “Why don’t you have a publicist? I know I got Lysa Thomas fired but surely the Godfrey Group has another in-house publicist. I _know_ some of them. I can recommend some. Why am I getting phone calls about your post-rehab recording schedule?”

“Because you’re the most apt to get answers from me,” Theodore answer contritely, looking over at him with an impish smile. “You could just be my publicist.”

Harry scoffed, “I don’t do that.” Turning his head towards Theodore, he tapped his hand against his chest. “Crisis management,” Harry explained.

Theodore pouted, “You do menial publicity for other people.”

“Do you think we should enmesh our careers that much?” Harry inquired seriously, eyebrows raised over the line of his RayBans.

Theodore pursed his lips and actually considered the question.

Therapy was helping them work through the issues they’d both refused to acknowledge and discuss before, but Harry’s concerns were still valid. It had clearly been difficult for him to fly to Morocco to keep Preston and Lysa in check when he wanted to pretend Theodore and everything he’d done didn’t exist. If they broke up, Harry had real concerns about having to rush to Theodore’s rescue when he wanted nothing to do with him at all. But Theodore didn’t trust anyone as much as he trusted Harry. Even at their lowest point, Theodore knew Harry wouldn’t leave him alone to drown in his own mistakes.

And Harry wasn’t the same as he was six months ago.

Sterling and Ireland PR had expanded exponentially according to what little information he managed to pry from Harry. Theodore already knew Rosie and Sully had cajoled him into renting office space from the building Salem’s company had purchases. He’d hired Shannon Gallagher, one of actor and client, Patrick Gallagher’s, cousins to work for them in addition to a handful of other staff. Under Rosie’s diligence and Harry’s acquisition of clients, the business was growing. There were more than enough competent employees to handle his case if they broke up.

“I trust you with my career. I trust you with all of me. And I know if we broke up it would be hard for you, but I need you. And I need you to support me—personally and professionally.” Theodore informed him, voice breaking a little as he exposed that vulnerable part of himself to Harry. Knowing that he needed the man and admitting it were two entirely different things.

Harry nodded his head slowly and gestured towards the parking lot off Le Hors Piste, the pizzeria and restaurant that his parents had decided on sometime the night before.

“You know I’d support you regardless, don’t you?”

Theodore looked over at him with amusement, grin spreading across his face. “Yeah, but I want contractually bound to me.”

The words were a joke…partially. And Harry seemed to recognize that hint of seriousness behind his words.

“Do you actually?”

The straightforward question brought Theodore up short, but his hesitation had more to do with Harry’s reaction than any uncertainty on Theodore’s part. If he could have, Theodore would have dragged Harry to the alter and took his chances on their marriage imploding publicly the night that they’d met. Theodore wanted to spend the rest of his life with Harry through all their fights and all their insecurities and all their personal trust issues. Being contractually bound to Harry through work was about as personal as he figured Harry would allow for the time being, the safest course of action.

Theodore pulled into a parking spot outside the restaurant, the good weather keeping them busy despite being the off-season for Châtel’s winter tourism industry. He turned off the ignition and unbuckled his seatbelt trying to avoid answering the question. As he started to maneuver towards the door, hand on the latch, Harry caught him. His body grew taut from that single touch, heat flushing across his face that had been building since the last of the drugs left his system allowing the detox to fade into a painful memory. Fuck he wanted to have sex. It had been months since he’d had sex. Since Harry’s birthday trip to Morocco.

“Do you actually?” Harry repeated pointedly when Theodore turned back to face him.

“Yes,” Theodore confessed quietly, eyes darting around to avoid Harry’s.

“Theodore…”

“Don’t,” Theodore started to argue, turning back to the door.

Harry stopped him by wrapping an arm around his neck, hand moving to Theodore’s face to turn him back towards Harry. When he was turned, Harry’s lips pressed against his heady, demanding, and unyielding.

Theodore remained tense for only a moment before he whined in his throat and melted into the kiss, hands fisting on Harry’s jacket as his mouth opened beneath Harry’s. Their lips moved together, tongues tangling, and Theodore’s hands moving up to cup Harry’s neck desperate to feel his skin beneath his fingers, the fluttering pulse beneath his touch. When their lips separated, both of them were on the verge of exploding, breathing heavy. Harry’s hands cupped his face, fingers tangling in his hair.

“One contract at a time babe.”

Theodore smiled wickedly and shrugged, “So if I asked for marriage instead of a publicist?”

Harry raised his eyebrows and smiled back cheekily, pressing a quick kiss to his lips. “I did say one contract at a time.”

Theodore blinked in surprise, breath catching in his throat as he stared dumbly at Harry.

“Let’s go, Teddy,” he instructed opening the door to climb out of the car, leading Attila out of the backseat towards the front door of the restaurant while Theodore scrambled to follow wondering what the hell that meant.

Harry wasn’t impulsive. Everything he did came attached with a ten-year plan and a list of contingencies. His not discounting marriage was a big step and one that meant he’d at least considered the possibility and had likely been considering the idea yet again. Theodore blinked dumbly at his back, a blissful smile beginning to spread across his face. Marriage…like he was a teenage girl still dreaming of Cinderella stories and happily ever afters rather than a man living in the real world. He was twenty-three. He should know better.

He tabled his dreamy hopes to follow Harry to the restaurant’s entrance.

The hostess took one look at Attila and smiled, leading them out to the outside patio surrounded by a wooden fence, flower boxes full of pink and purple flowers on the railings. The patio overlooked a carousel and a church, the mountains rising behind them and enclosing them in the valley. Huge umbrellas protected the dozens of outdoor diners from the unrelenting sun, small two-person tables pushed together to create larger spaces for dining.

Like a true southern woman, Mabel sat in a floor-length sundress and a straw hat, her purse on the floor beside her chair. Across from her, Curtis was in his usual khakis and a button-up shirt sipping a beer and half-listening with a bemused smile on his face as she talked. What he didn’t expect was the rest of the table’s occupants: his Uncle Sy, Uncle Sy’s girlfriend, Delilah and Trey, Aunt Jessica, and Aunt Danielle.

Theodore paused, jaw setting, and turned his gaze towards Harry who’d also paused, arms crossed over his chest and eyes narrowed. “You didn’t tell me they were all going to be here,” Theodore accused.

“They didn’t tell me they were all going to be here,” Harry responded dully, the words an accusation even with his tone light. He buttoned his jacket and pulled out a chair for Theodore who sank into it, Attila settling at his feet while Harry sat down beside him. “How did you all get here?”

Delilah cleared her throat nervously and tugged at her collar, “Grandma gave us some money.”

“ _My_ money,” Theodore reminded them.

Harry rattled off an order of two cokes to the waitress when she came to set the starters down on the table—butternut raviolini and garlic bread. His expression tightened, but he kept silent, allowing Theodore to sort through his own emotions.

“Teddy,” Mabel started, “I didn’t want to upset you. Or ambush you.”

“And yet…” he drawled, hands fanning out. The table flinched while Harry nudged his side for their order, slipping him the pizza menu and gesturing to the pizzas. He pointed to the one with spicy salami and jalapeños before returning his attention to his family.

“And yet,” Mabel scoffed in disbelief while Curtis shook his head at his wife’s behavior, “you ambushed me! I find out you might have knocked up some girl from the tabloids. I find out you went to rehab from Curtis because you couldn’t be bothered to call us. Do you know how dangerous detoxing from cocaine is?”

“Obviously,” Theodore stated drolly.

“Do you know how worried I was?”

Theodore shrugged and took a sip from his coke when Harry slid it over to them. He really wanted a drink, seeing the beers and cocktails on the table renewed a raw ache inside him. When he felt Harry’s hand on his knee, Theodore looked away hastily. Together, he, Dr. Kerrigan, and Dr. Pequot had discussed his drinking and diagnosed it as part of the problem. They’d agreed it was in his best interest to stay dry, and Harry had taken up the mantle with him when Dr. Kerrigan had discussed the decision in one of their sessions.

“I only had two seizures,” Theodore told his mother dismissively.

Mabel tensed while Curtis sighed, looking to Harry. He shrugged having been begged not to tell anyone.

“You didn’t think it was important for me to know?” Mabel asked sounding almost brokenhearted by the words.

“I thought, for once, my health was more important than everyone else’s desires.” Theodore confessed honestly, popping a raviolini into his mouth and scowling. Butternut…with sage butter. Harry stifled a laugh and slipped a piece of garlic bread onto his plate, throwing an arm around the back of Theodore’s chair almost absently. Theodore stifled a smile while the family watched them warily.

“You two are still together then?” Uncle Sy couldn’t help but ask. Aunt Danielle scolded him, but he waved her off, eyes on Harry. “Even knowing he fucked that girl.”

“My life and my decisions are none of your business,” Harry informed him coolly.

Delilah started to speak before pausing and looking towards Trey who shook his head pointedly. She shoveled another forkful of raviolini into her mouth, expression growing slack and indignant, though she kept her mouth closed.

Aunt Jessica took up the mantle for her. “Don’t you understand why we were worried? Most people wouldn’t be able to get over a betrayal like that!” Aunt Jessica said sounding both genuinely concerned and utterly personal in the attack. Likely, she remembered her own experiences with her son’s unnamed father.

“We worked it out,” Theodore said through clenched teeth. “And it’s absolutely none of your concern. I didn’t ask you all here, and I didn’t want you here. I’m barely ready to forgive my mother let alone the people that would have used me to gain wealth that isn’t theirs for things they don’t need.”

“Theodore,” Mabel started in sadness. “How long are you going to hold this against me?”

“For myself,” Theodore drawled, “I have to let it go. I’ll never forget it, but I have to move on from that anger. You’re not sorry. You’ll never be sorry, and you’ll never admit you love your family more than me because I’m not really a part of it.”

“Theodore!” Mabel started to argue harshly when Curtis cut her off.

“Stop lying to the boy, and stop lying to yourself,” Curtis told his wife curtly. Mabel turned to him with dread and alarm while he shook his head. “I love him like he’s my own, but I don’t have any family. You do. And you love them, and you love him. But in the end you think he has a great life and it’s his duty to give to his family. And they expect it. But it’s not his duty, it’s not a requirement, your expectations of family are absurd. He doesn’t owe you—or them—anything, Mabel. Stop pretending otherwise.”

“A man should give back to his family,” Mabel returned in argument.

Curtis shook his head and met Theodore’s eyes. “Son, I’m sorry, but she’ll never learn. It’s not a failing on your part, but a miscalculation on hers.”

“And why shouldn’t he help out? He’s got enough to burn cash on some fancy rehab clinic. He can support his family,” Uncle Sy said, wincing when Aunt Danielle slapped him again with a long-suffering sigh.

Theodore rolled his eyes and looked over to Harry, falling silent when the food arrived.

The waitress set down a burger for Uncle Sy and Trey, roasted cod for Aunt Jessica, a falafel wrap for Aunt Danielle and Mabel, a pulled pork sandwich for Curtis, a four cheese pizza for Delilah and Uncle Sy’s girlfriend, and the spicy salami and jalapeño pizza for Theodore and Harry. They split plates and pulled slices off the platter cheerfully, meeting eyes as they shared a bite and marveled at the taste. Just the right amount spicy for the both of them. They smiled and ate a little before Theodore willingly returned to the conversation.

When everyone was engrossed in their food, Theodore nodded sagely and rested his palms on the table. Every eye turned towards him.

“I lied about my will, I think we all know that. But I’ve had it taken care of before coming to rehab.” Theodore admitted slowly, halting side conversations and causing an air of uncertainty. “None of you will get anything. I can’t give money to people who saw me as a cash cow awaiting the slaughter.” The displeasure was evident, the argument no one dared voice clear, but Theodore remained unmoved by the complaint. “I want to help Mama and Dad, but I don’t trust her not to give money over to you indiscriminately. As such, money will be allotted to you on a needs-basis, Harry’ll be the executor.”

“Are you kidding me?” Delilah exploded.

Theodore held up a hand and shook his head. “I don’t want to hear it. Grandma and Grandpa get a chunk to squander but it’s not much and it won’t last forever. Royalties are to go to my staff and the several charities I support. The house in London goes to Harry. The house in LA goes to Alina. I’m not forgiving, and I’ll never forget. And aside from what you steal from Grandma and Grandpa no one here is getting a penny from me. My pride won’t allow it. Family or not, you were willing for me to kill myself so you could get what you want. That’s completely unacceptable.”

“But it’s not unacceptable to give your house to some guy you’re screwing.” Uncle Sy drawled with an exaggerated eye roll.

“Harry lives there.” Theodore stated, dumbfounded. “I’m not going to argue about this. I talked it over with a lawyer. It’s notarized and official in both American and British courts. It’s more than you deserve.”

Theodore finished his coke and reached over to steal Harry’s, plucking a fallen slice of salami off Harry’s plate first to toss it in his mouth. Harry pinched Theodore’s thigh, and his cock twitched painfully. He bit his lower lip, eyes slipping closed, and head bowing while Harry watched him with amusement.

“So you’re punishing us,” Aunt Danielle surmised.

“I’m letting go of my anger and disappointment and betrayal so that I can become a better person, but yes, I’m punishing you for being greedy and selfish,” Theodore retorted when he regained enough faculties to speak. Lunch was awkward but he, at least, felt a whole lot better than he had before.

 


	42. "Only One" by Carlie Hanson

**Everything we know about Maverick’s Fifth Studio Album**

Despite confirmation that Maverick is still on holiday and hasn’t even begun work on his long-awaited fifth studio album, that’s not quite true. Maverick’s fourth album, _Away for the Weekend_ , dropped in December 2016 and was followed by an EP, _Growing Pains_ , in 2018. Though on holiday, sources have confirmed that Maverick has been diligently working despite the hiatus reportedly intended to strengthen his relationship with his longtime—and still anonymous—girlfriend. Santiago Reyes, producer for Maverick’s fourth album, is again helping to produce Maverick’s fifth beginning to record the music in-studio in preparation for his return. What little Maverick has revealed in recent radio interviews has disclosed that this album is “not really about lust or sex or anything people were probably expecting.” Since _Away for the Weekend_ , Maverick’s eluded to drug use and accusations of fathering Ember Caraleigh’s newborn daughter, Alia, revealed alcoholism, fans believe that the album may take a far darker and more personal approach than a simple discussion of the star’s love life. Maverick’s not discussing it, but we’re all eagerly awaiting the day he does.

**Comments:**

**nailagurrrrl:** My maveratics RISE!!! It’s finally coming!

**13_daisyguo:** I’m obsessed. I need it now. I need to know. I need him to stop vacationing and give me my Maverick fix. He hasn’t even been doing collabs!!!

**spanishbuttefly:** Maverick’s just needed a break to fix the relationship between him and his girl. Now he’s back giving love to the fans. I’m soooo happy!!!

**Anonymous:** Drugs, sex, money. He could write a song about fruit and Id be satisfied. Real talk

 

**Thalia Booker (@BookOfTali)**

When @DidoLynn tells you your brother is @MaverickOfficial, you don’t know how to confess you’re secretly a fangirl

 

**Maverick (@MaverickOfficial)**

@BookOfTali I mean there are better ways than Twitter.

 

**Thalia Booker (@BookOfTali)**

O.O #blushes #hidesunderthebed

 

**Maverick (@MaverickOfficial)**

@BookOfTali didn’t anyone ever tell you not to put your secrets on Twitter? Should we meet when I come to LA?

 

**Thalia Booker (@BookOfTali)**

@MaverickOfficial that would be amazeballs! But I might pass out #fairwarning

 

**Group MMS: Rory, Harry, Alina, Dakota, Rosie**

**Theodore:** We’re looking at September 2nd!!!!!!

**Rory:** I’ll make arrangements

**Alina:** Congrats on the 2wk notice babes

**Dakota:** The Fulton County Police Department is so proud of you! ;D

**Rosie:** Does that mean I won’t have to facilitate any military maneuvers to sneak you away from the press?

**Rosie:** That would be a bummer

**Theodore:** I am still gay…

**Rosie:** I do feel better :P

 

To: haroldpotter6999@gmail.co.uk; haroldbentonsterling@gmail.co.uk

From: alexander.sullivan@thompsonhardwicke.org

Subject: RE: RE: Documents

Proof of Residency (you have that handled and organized in the folder)

Valid Passport (again, your end)

Original Long Form Birth Certificate translated into French (handled; I’ve attached copies to you along with Sebastian’s credentials)

Certificate of Celibacy (I mean this was a pain, but I got it expedited and attached that in the email)

Affidavit of Law (you’re so lucky I know a guy in the consulate, but it’s been taken care of and attached)

Medical Certificate (I received your email about that and it’s been approved)

*This was such a long wind rush job that it drove me insane, but I am a good lawyer. Just make sure you get those over to the Mairie to get everything approved. I wish you luck, but I doubt you’ll need it. You’re such an operator for reals

Sully

 

**Teddy Langston (@TM_1996)**

Last day before I’m home free. Saying goodbye isn’t as hard as I was expecting. I think I’m ready to go and let someone else learn to be better.

 

**Maverick (@MaverickOfficial)**

Last hurrah before it’s back to work and into the studio!

 

**Text message from Salem**

**Salem:** Harry where are you?

**Salem:** Have you seen?

**Salem:** I’m DESPERATE

**Salem:** I’m texting Rosie

**Harry:** It’ll be a minute but I’ll be there. Guaranteed.

* * *

Harry didn’t think leaving had been hard for Theodore, by the time he’d left most of the people who’d been in the rehab facility had already been released. He had appeared relieved to go, to put the French Alps and what that now represented behind him and try to rekindle what they’d broken with a short holiday to Lyon. A _real_ holiday not a fake retreat that was actually an attempt at rehabilitation. He’d bid a stoic farewell to the orderlies, nurses, and doctors who’d overseen his treatment but otherwise hadn’t been saddened by their departure.

Lyon was new for both of them.

They’d stayed in a bed and breakfast in Saint-Irénée outside the city center of Lyon and walked daily across the bridge into the city to explore. Only a three day vacation but one that they’d both needed. Their lust hadn’t cooled despite the resentment that they were slowly chipping away with each passing day, and they’d fallen back into their typical brand of sexual haze like a bad habit, spending their days wandering the town with Attila while the cats watched birds out the window of their room in the B&B, the owner and his wife as enamored by the young Maine Coons as Harry and Theodore.

They’d spent the first couple days being tourists, dipping into chapels, wandering the Parc de la Tête d’or and the Place Bellecour, and visiting some of the city’s museums. There had been a food tour and wine with cheese, brie sandwiches and croquettes. Both of them enjoyed travelling and had learned to value each other’s company in the months that Theodore had been detained in a rehab facility in a tiny ski town during the off-season. Châtel was beautiful but small, and neither of them had ever been fond of small town lifestyles, particularly not when spending their lives in London.

Too comfortable in the city, Harry held Theodore’s hand tightly as they strolled down a residential street stealing macarons from the box out of the boulangerie down the street while sipping their cappuccinos silently. Harry had a manila envelope in his back pocket that Theodore hadn’t asked about, just as he hadn’t asked about why they were wondered down a residential street not far from their hotel in Lyon’s fifth arrondissement, content to be there. Harry had a plan and regardless of how fast they’d have to move after this to get back to London and throw a life raft to Bailey, Harry wouldn’t steal this from Theodore.

Nudging Theodore with his hip, Harry guided him off the main sidewalk to the quaint traditionally French building behind a fence. The adjacent parking lot was full, and Theodore frowned in confusion.

“Harry? Do you know where we are?”

“Mairie du 5ème arrondissement,” Harry quipped with a smile, grinning impishly when Theodore glared at him. Harry shrugged, holding open the door for Theodore when they trotted up the stairs. Harry rested a hand on Theodore’s lower back and leaned in to press a kiss to his temple, whispering, “Just go along with my scheme, babe.”

“They get us into trouble,” Theodore drolled even as he walked inside, dismissing the allegations as though he hadn’t been the one to say them.

“No one’s ever said that to me before,” Harry replied, following behind him into the building.

A woman in her early thirties sat behind a reception desk in the waiting room, ignoring the complaints of a pudgy man gesticulating wildly as he yelled at her in brisk French. She nodded absently while playing Candy Crush on her phone despite the clawlike acrylic nails painted soft peach. She pushed up her glasses with her middle finger and stared coldly at the man over the wire-rimmed frames. When her dark blue eyes moved to Harry, they seemed as disinterested as her usual before landing on Theodore and widening, eyes darting back and forth between them until she held her hand up to cut the man off.

“ _Excusez moi. Une moment._ ” Pasting on an excited smile, she turned towards them, waving them forward in spite of the line already stretching that grumbled beneath their breath.

“ _Bonjour, Monsieur_ Benton. You called earlier, _non_?”

“ _Oui,_ I scheduled an…” his eyes moved to Theodore who raised his eyebrows while he coughed pointedly into his fist and hurriedly returned his gaze to the woman. “An _appointment_ with _Maire_ Thibault.”

A smile spread across the receptionist’s face, and she nodded excitedly. “ _Oui_ , she informed me just this morning. You can head up to the office. Right up the stairs and to the left. She just called. She’s ready and waiting on you.”

“ _Merci_ ,” Harry said thankfully, guiding Theodore towards the magnificent traditional French staircase leading up to the second floor. Not at all buying into Harry’s dismissive and lackadaisical attitude, Theodore played along silently, peering over his shoulder with furrowed eyebrows and a questioning expression of curiosity that he didn’t dare pursue. At least not yet.

Once he realized they were following the _Office de Mariages_ signs posted to the wall, Theodore grew visibly more and more restless. Though Harry thought he couldn’t possibly imagine why they’d come.

Harry didn’t understand destination weddings. It wasn’t easy getting married in a foreign country. It had required a host of paperwork that Harry had had to bribe, extort, and commit outright fraud to procure in order to make this a surprise for Theodore. Luckily his dealings with Theodore’s management—and sharing a home with him—gave Harry access to all the paperwork he’d needed to send back and forth. The rest had come with money, schmoozing, the abuse of connections, and forging Theodore’s signature on paperwork. Super illegal, especially since it hadn’t just been filing in the UK, easiest since they both had citizenship, but also in France where they technically had residency but still didn’t _reside_.

Outside what Harry assumed was the little makeshift wedding chapel stood _Maire_ Jean-Marie Thibault, the recently elected mayor of Lyon. In smaller villages, being wed by the _maire_ was reportedly common enough, but this wasn’t a small town. Usually they would have been wed by a mayor’s representative, but once names had been dropped—privacy or not—Jean-Marie Thibault had wanted to be nowhere but involved in the secret elopement of a pop legend to his same-sex publicist.

She looked as he expected for a female politician: boxy and shapeless in a pin-striped pantsuit, pale pink blouse, with her dark hair streaked with silver and contact lenses replacing glasses. A string of pearls hung around her neck and matched the studs in her ears. And when Jean-Marie looked at them, she smiled brightly, too brightly, prompting a harsh growl from Attila. A delighted laugh escaped her as she raised her eyebrows and shook her head slightly. An ambitious politician, the owner of the B&B had called her sourly, and ambitious woman with lofty goals and little morals.

Harry could see it.

Jean-Marie held out a hand to Harry as they approached. “Harry Benton-Sterling? You and my aide, Dacia, spoke on the phone.”

“We did,” Harry said shaking her head. “Thank you for being here. This is my boyfriend, Theodore.”

Theodore didn’t shake hands, crossing his arms and nodding firmly.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you both. And congratulations on your wedding,” _Maire_ Thibault said happily.

“Wedding day?” Theodore startled, turning to Harry and beginning to grin. He reached out for Harry’s hand, interlacing their fingers and grinning broadly. “We’re getting married?”

_Maire_ Thibault’s eyebrows rose in confusion, eyes roving between them suspiciously. “He didn’t know? How did he not know?”

Harry stiffened.

Theodore’s expression focused on that tension, drifting between Harry and _Maire_ Thibault, eyes narrowing on the file she clenched her hands around and pulled tighter to her abdomen. He grinned charmingly and shrugged one shoulder. “I guess that’s what all that paperwork I signed was, huh?” He scrunched his nose and looked at her. “I don’t read anything, and thank God. Why would I want to ruin my own surprise? I’m getting married!” Theodore said, words dying off with a stifled squeal of excitement. He turned back to Harry and gripped his hand tighter. “You really want to marry me?”

“I did say one contract at a time,” Harry hedged.

“Harry!” Theodore whined, smile not dimming in the slightest. “You’re not just doing this for me?” The hesitations and genuine worry on his face made Harry momentarily stunned by Theodore’s insecurity. Didn’t he know that Harry loved him?

Harry cupped his face in his hands. “I don’t know if we’ll make it. I don’t know if we’ll survive our lifestyles, but I know want to try. This is for us. Not for our families, not for our friends, not for the public consumption of the whole world. Succeed or failure, this is ours and no one else’s. I want you, I love you, and I want this this for the both of us. Refusing to commit hasn’t bought anything except trouble.”

The mayor’s aide dabbed a tear from her eye and handed a handkerchief to the mayor who couldn’t accept it, preoccupied with fanning a hand before her face to dry the tears threatening to spill from her eyes.

“Beautiful sentiment,” the aide whispered to _Maire_ Thibault.

“Beautiful couple, are you ready?”

Harry looked over at Theodore who offered a watery smile, dancing on the verge of tears. He laughed wetly and brushed a single falling tear from his cheek with the back of his hand. Leaning over, he pressed a swift kiss to Harry’s lips before nodding in agreement.

Chuckling, _Maire_ Thibault guided them into the small ceremonies room for people who did civil ceremonies rather than investing full time and effort into a religious ceremony. She opened the door to the hall and allowed them entry to the small room overlooking the garden in the back with double glass doors and a Juliet balcony. Vases full of lilies sat on stained glass side tables on either side of the doors.

_Maire_ Thibault looked around the room and grimaced, “It isn’t much.”

“It’s perfect,” Theodore said, London accent bleeding through his words.

“Is it?” Harry insisted.

“It is,” Theodore promised while his watery grin refused to fade. “I mean I’d prefer for the cats to have been involved as well, but there’s little more I could ask for than your and me and an actual wedding certificate.”

“Should we hold out for Vegas, then?”

“Do I look the type to be wed in holy matrimony by Elvis?” He demanded imperiously before breaking into a giddy smile. Theodore bit his bottom lip, unable to hide his delighted grin. “Contracts, huh?”

Harry shrugged, flushing and scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. “I’m good at them,” he demurred, cheeks heating and clearing his throat. There was an uncertainty that sat within him and welled in his throat, heavy like a leaden weight and round like a tennis ball. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to marry Theodore, but he didn’t want to talk about it. Didn’t want his sappy professionalism being pointed out and discussed.

“You’re good at a lot of things,” Theodore suggested with a partial shrug and an honest smile.

_Maire_ Thibault clapped her hands together, dabbing her wet eyes with the tissue her aide had offered her. Nodding her head, _Maire_ Thibault laced her hands together with a soft smile. “Should we begin? Do you both speak French or should I do it in English?”

Theodore shook his head, “It’s much better in French.”

Harry went first, repeating the vows as _Maire_ Thibault read them to him. She paused and started to turn to Theodore when Harry shook his head and cleared his throat awkwardly. “I didn’t want to date you. I thought you’d ruin me. I thought you’d fuck me up, that we’d fuck each other up. And we did, but we handled ourselves and put the pieces back together, learned from our mistakes and moved on. I don’t expect you to be perfect, but I expect you to try. And I’ll try for you because I love you.”

Blinking back tears, Theodore swiped them from beneath his eyes and offered him a watery smile. He nodded his head and laughed wetly, gaze shifting to _Maire_ Thibault.

“You ready?” She asked him kindly.

Theodore nodded and repeated after her, “ _Moi,_ Theodore Maverick, _je te prend,_ Harry Benton-Sterling, _pour être mon épouse, pour avoir et tenir de ce jour vers l’avant, pour meilleur ou pour le pire, pour la prospérité et la pauvreté, dans la maladie et dans la santé, pour aimer et chérir; jusqu’à la mort nous sépare._ ” He cleared his throat and asked, “Can I say something else?” Laughing slightly, _Maire_ Thibault nodded and waved a hand airily. His eyes returned to Harry. “We’re kind of a disaster.” Harry laughed suddenly unable to argue the point. “We’re mean liars and rigidly controlled and explosive, but I’ve never loved anyone like I love you. No one’s ever loved me the way you love me. I can’t imagine life without you, and I know I was selfish before with you, but I don’t ever want to go there again. I don’t want to lose you. So I’ll try for you like you try for me.”

Harry’s stomach twisted, throat drying. He blinked his eyes and bowed his head to hide the tears welling in his eyes. Sniffing quietly, Harry raised his head and forced his face to remain straight, smile breaking through when his eyes met Theodore’s.

_Maire_ Thibault cleared her throat pointedly and looked at Harry, “Now the rings.”

“Oh, right,” Harry said, shaking hands plucking the ring box out of his pocket.

Theodore’s mouth dropped open in surprise a little when his eyes landed on the rings.

Harry had wanted the rings to be something special, unique like their relationship but still beautiful and chic. Ultimately he’d decided on complimentary wedding bands as opposed to exact matches in a black stardust and meteorite ring displaying the profile of a mountain range set in titanium for him, and a meteorite ring inlaid with black diamonds alongside a strip of dinosaur bone set in titanium for Theodore. They were quirky but sleek, fun but just on the right side of serious.

Without waiting for permission, the aide stepped up to hold the box between them.

Taking Theodore’s hand, Harry slid the ring onto his finger before pressing a kiss to the back of his hand. Trembling but smiling through his tears, Theodore guided the other ring onto Harry’s finger, smile widening impossibly.

_Maire_ Thibaults words declaring them husbands was drowned out by Theodore leaping forward to cup Harry’s face between his hands and drag him into a kiss that turned heated in an instant. Attila barked at them anxiously and jumped up to lick at their faces causing them both of separate abruptly, turning to stroke the dog so desperate for attention while avoiding the swipes of his tongue that passed for kisses.

Muttering something about mail and marriage certificates and English addresses, _Maire_ Thibault and her aide congratulated them before quietly slipping out of the room.

“We’re married,” Theodore remarked with a grin that turned sly suddenly. “I don’t suppose we have time to consummate the marriage, do we?”

Harry cleared his throat and hedged, “Not exactly. I had to move up our flight.”

Theodore didn’t even bother to feign surprise. Shaking his head and rolling his eyes, Theodore crossed his arms and asked, “What’s the emergency this time?”

“Maggie Gallgher outed Bailey.”

This seemed to take Theodore by surprise. Of all the people—all the scandals—Theodore had apparently been expecting, those involving Bailey had obviously not been among them. For good reason. Bailey handled his business, knew who he could trust and kept the rest hidden from people he even speculated could spell trouble for him. Whether he wanted to come out or not was irrelevant, Bailey knew how to survive and knew that coming out was n small thing however much society insisted they’d grown more accepting.

“Maggie _Gallagher…_ as in…?”

“Yes,” Harry said shortly.

Theodore grimaced and ran a hand through his hair. “As long as I’m guaranteed something vaguely resembling a honeymoon at some point in the near future, I will accept this without complaint. Santi’s been on me about the album. So has the label. And my management. And my unofficial publicist,” he said accusingly, eyes narrowed on Harry, “now that I think of it.”

Harry shrugged, “Rosie hired him. Jamie Dutch. The only thing I know about him is that he’s capable and apparently attractive.”

“Are you sure this is _your_ business?” Theodore inquired archly, threading their fingers together and starting towards the door.

Harry rolled his eyes and allowed himself to be tugged towards the exit. By his husband. A smile played over his lips as he admitted, “It’s mine and Rosie’s business…but probably mostly Rosie’s.”

Theodore nodded, a strange look crossing his face as he stopped and turned towards Harry. He raised his eyebrows expectantly while Theodore struggled to gather his courage. “Promise me something?” Harry tilted his head and waited for the next question. “Don’t let me come out like that. Like Cris and Bailey. I couldn’t take it.”

Harry stepped forward and held Theodore’s hands tightly in his before cupping his face and forcing a smile. He could have said that that wasn’t guaranteed, he could have said things were subject to chance, he could have said that things were very difficult now that they were officially married and all that that entailed. Instead, Harry said, “I love you. When you come out, it’ll be your choice and your way. I’ll make sure of it.”

And he would. No matter what he had to do.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All those destination weddings are lies. Either they wed here and perform a ceremony in the exotic locale or they work overtime. No lie I looked up the paperwork needed for an overseas wedding, it's hella crazy. Also, this was definitely fraud. You can't be signing your significant other's legal paperwork. Just for full disclosure. You can go to jail for that.


	43. "Shutter Island" by Jessie Reyez

**Maverick (@MaverickOfficial)**

Back to London :*

 

**Teddy Langston (@TM_1996)**

I am officially off the market until death do us part #imightfaint <3

 

**Group MMS: Harry, Theodore, Rosie, Alina, Dakota, Marley**

**Alina:** Bitch what?

 **Dakota:** Congratulations!

 **Rosie:** Not congratulations. They fucking suck what about us????

 **Marley:** I feel cheated.

 **Rosie:** Harry expect death.

 **Alina:** Theodore ^^^^^^

**Text message to Harry**

**Caroline:** You’d have an easier time if you didn’t decide to take on homophobia in sports.

 **Harry:** I took on homophobia in the music industry. Football can kiss my ass.

 **Caroline:** Also warmest regards is a bitchy send off

 **Harry:** I had no idea -.-

 

**Arsenal forward accused of sleeping with tech mogul**

Only a few hours ago photos were released of Arsenal forward, Arthur Bailey, kissing with noted best friend and young entrepreneur and tech mogul, Konstantin Kimura-Petrov. The pair have been friends for three years after reportedly meeting during a post-game party during the 2016 Rio Olympics. Since then the pair have spent most holidays together, met each other’s families, and bought an apartment together near Kimura-Petrov’s family in Tokyo, Japan. Bailey and longtime girlfriend, Kanani Kapuana, split not long after the allegedly intimate friendship began. There has been no indication of whether of not this rumored affair fueled the couple’s break up. Bailey’s rep declined to comment.

> **Comments:**
> 
> **Iri_D_Gray:** Way to put that idea in everyone’s head. ‘No indication’ well now there fucking is!

 

**Maverick (@MaverickOfficial)**

I don’t indiscriminately hate the press but damn there is some gross levels of reportage happening, isn’t there?

 

**Text message from Rosie & Sully**

**Sully:** So…

 **Rosie:** No.

 **Harry:** What?

 **Sully:** Maggie gallagher’s legal team wants to meet for a plea.

 **Harry:** Rosie…

 **Rosie:** No.

 **Sully:** We should at least meet.

 **Rosie:** Ughhhhhhhhhhh Harry no please!

 **Harry:** Do you want me to handle the meeting alone? I doubt it will go well.

 **Rosie:** I will not be party to this massive waste of time.

 **Harry:** I’ll be there. Any word from Salem?

 **Sully:** Of course he’s suing Georgia

 

**Santiago Reyes (@Santis_Rays)**

@MaverickOfficial is just always a damn beast in studio. Man on a mission. Let’s go.

 

**Alina Rosen (@AlinaAzadi)**

In studio with @MaverickOfficial…it feels like it was only yesterday we were doing this.

 

**Maverick (@MaverickOfficial)**

@AlinaAzadi that’s because it was…

* * *

From the first moment, Harry didn’t like the look of Maggie Gallagher. He’d heard enough rumors about her between Los Angeles and London to make him wary, that those came almost exclusively from the mouth of Charlie Beck, the lover of Maggie’s brother, didn’t make an unbiased opinion of the woman any easier to come by. And that her brother hadn’t splurged on a fancy solicitor to keep her out of prison, well, that cinched all his worst fears.

At first glance, Maggie wasn’t much to look at. Similar to her brother in looks, stature, and Irish heritage, Margaret Leona Gallagher—paparazzi extraordinaire in the worst possible way—was pale and dark-haired wearing a pair of fitted trousers, a cheap satin blouse, and a blazer with leather pads on the elbows. Her lips were painted a bright crimson, mascara and eyeliner too dark, and blush deep for such a pale complexion in a way that made her look more like a toy doll than an actual human person.

Her husband, Simon Anderson, was a Scandinavian-American with talents equally as questionable. He’d skipped over trashy but entertaining reality television shows like _90 Day Fiancé_ and _The Real Housewives_ , producing the sort of trash television that made _Keeping Up with the Kardashians_ and _The Jersey Shore_ look primetime. Whether in London or Los Angeles, Simon had made his fortune producing reality television that shocked the masses and horrified them in equal measure. He sat beside his wife in a light blazer, button-up shirt, and patched jeans that Harry couldn’t figure if they had been purposefully created that way or developed such a shabby look over time.

Their solicitor, too, Harry knew by reputation. Teri Haymir was moderately expensive, a radical feminist and social justice warrior who tackled everything from public nudity to revenge porn. She made most of her living by representing hapless B-list celebrities who get arrested making pointless political statements to prove how woke they were. Haymir made excellent money doing so, but Harry didn’t pretend that he wasn’t disgusted by her profession or professional ethics.

Rosie’s lips twisted where she leaned against Brandon’s desk staring at the trio through the window of the conference room. “Simon hired her. Apparently they met when one of his reality stars sued over revenge porn.”

“Is that really what we’re calling sexting these days?” Brandon asked with an eye roll. He raised a hand, “Can I sue because I was a pornstar when I was young and stupid? They shouldn’t have released it because obviously I was desperate and unable to think straight. I mean that’s really what these cases are about right?”

Sully walked out of his office and whacked Brandon on the back of the head before reclining against his desk. “Releasing intimate photos is a dangerous business. It’s a complete violation of privacy.”

“Don’t send nudes if you don’t want them getting out. Period,” Harry stated unconcerned.

Sully and Rosie exchanged twin looks of disbelief. Rosie scoffed, “You’ve never sexted Theodore? That’s what you’re telling me?”

“Between hacking and theft, no, I haven’t. We’re not idiots.” Harry stated coolly before pausing and tilting his head at Rosie. “Have you sent nudes to Benji?”

Rosie colored and cleared her throat uncomfortably. “I…no…of course not,” she said, voice growing shrill. Brandon and Sully sniggered while Harry hid a grin of amusement. Clearing her throat awkwardly, she stepped closer to Harry, curving an arm around his neck and whispering, “Do you think Salem could make those disappear for me? I cannot become public cannon fodder. I’m not Jennifer Lawrence. I didn’t do anything wrong, but my God the humiliation!”

Harry hid his smile an gave her a stern glance. “Serves you right.”

He marched towards the conference room while Rosie gaped, “Harry!”

Sterling and Ireland might have started and been intended as a small operation, but the situation had altered drastically. What began as a staff of he, Rosie, Brandon, and a part-time Sully had seen Sully quitting his job with Thompson & Hardwicke to become their in-house solicitor that saw him paid handsomely thanks to his degree in international corporate law. The need for actual business position had become quickly apparent with Harry being named CEO, Rosie becoming COO, and Brandon becoming CFO, working while attaining an official degree in accounting.

Rosie had been responsible single-handedly for growing the business. Harry preferred to work hands-on, boots on the ground with troublesome clients. He’d offered Rosie the position as CEO, but her hatred of paperwork and desire for a life free from responsibility had seen her turning it down content to laugh at Harry when he cursed out the paperwork and wrote rude comments on their shared glass wall. She blew him kisses, and Harry flipped her the bird while scanning through the paperwork and commiserating with Salem online.

Business, though, was hopping. Clients knew them by name, by reputation, and often personally, providing him with a clientele pool large enough to gain a word of mouth reputation that was untarnished by scandal. And if the entertainment industry needed one thing consistently, it was someone trustworthy to weather the sea of scandals with an international audience.

There was nothing Rosie, Sully, and Harry did better.

They could certainly handle Maggie Gallagher.

“Is Salem or Bailey coming?” Harry asked, pausing with his hand on the door and turning to gaze between Rosie and Sully.

Rosie started to speak when Bailey appeared from the direction of the bathroom looking flawlessly classic in a double-breasted herringbone Burberry suit with one of their plaid ties, the black button-up with stars Givenchy and boots leather Saint Laurent. He ran a hand through his dark hair tied at the base of his neck and narrowed his eyes on Maggie Gallagher through the glass.

“Salem put you up to this?” Harry inquired.

Bailey hummed thoughtfully and smiled. “I did. I don’t like to cause trouble, and I understand the point of the paparazzi, really. But I need to do this. Outing people in 2019 is completely unacceptable. She knew better. She did it anyway. She didn’t care. That’s the end of things.”

“Yes, it is,” Rosie agreed heartily, accepting the pumpkin spiced latte an intern slid into her hand with a cheery wave before passing another cup to Sully.

Harry raised his eyebrows and leaned into Rosie. “What? I don’t get one?”

“The interns don’t like you,” Rosie stage-whispered while the intern in question choked on a giggle and looked wide-eyed between the two of them. When Rosie winked, Harry raised his eyebrows pointedly and crossed his arms over his chest. The girl blanched, breath catching in her chest. “Don’t panic. Harry won’t eat you. He doesn’t care that much, and leaving to get an overpriced caffeinated beverage is the only exercise he gets all day. He’s just being an asshole.”

“As per usual,” Sully agreed with a cheeky grin.

Bailey eyed Harry cautiously. “People say you’re strict, and this is how you allow your employees to treat you.”

Rosie pressed a kiss to Harry’s cheek while Harry sighed exasperatedly and rolled his eyes. “It helps that we’ve known each other since freshmen year of uni…and we used to sleep together.”

The footballer’s eyebrows rose.

Harry didn’t look at him, pointing at him sharply. “Two names: Cris Emerson, Charlie Beck.”

Bailey’s lips pursed as he smiled slightly and nodded, “Understood. Shall we?”

“Let’s,” Rosie said, yanking the door open to stalk into the room before Harry. Her eyes landed on Maggie Gallagher who sneered at her entrance and curled up her li in defiance. Rosie didn’t seem particularly impressed. Bailey beat Harry in pulling out her seat and sat himself between Harry and Rosie likely for his own emotional comfort as much as for stature. Sully settled beside Harry, tapping his coffee on the conference table with an air of indifference supported by the easy way he lounged in the chair.

“Mr. Benton-Sterling, to begin…” Teri Haymir started.

Harry held up a hand and grinned smugly. “Ms. Haymir—it is miss, isn’t it still?” Haymir grimaced and colored while Harry offered a contented smile. “I was so sorry to hear about your breakup with David. It was something to do with BDS wasn’t it?”

“It’s a worthy cause,” Haymir stated tightly.

Harry raised his eyebrows and looked over at Rosie. “David’s Jewish, isn’t he?”

“That’s what I hear,” Rosie drawled with a grin. “From Egypt. Not a great life his family had there. Emigrated to the US to get away from—what did he call it?”

“Bigotry? No…anti-Semitism.” Harry said with a light laugh.

Haymir slapped her palm on the table and pointed a finger at them. “I’m _not_ anti-Semitic. BDS is _not_ an anti-Semitic movement.”

“Right,” Rosie drawled, nodding. “I forgot how inclusive that was. The Nazi pioneered a solid system there,” Rosie retorted with an eye roll.

“That’s defamation,” Haymir hissed.

“That’s the BDS,” Sully corrected.

“That’s irrelevant,” Harry stated dismissively, though the derisive curl to his lips effectively conveyed what he thought about it. “What’s relevant is that you automatically assumed you’d be discussing this case with me. You won’t be. I know how much you like to poke and prod and penalize people for being born male, so I figured you would be more comfortable handling this case with Rosie. Was I incorrect?”

Haymir scoffed, “Unable to negotiate with me so you send your bitch to do it?”

“That’s adorable,” Rosie said dryly. “I’ll have to ask David why he stayed with you so long when we go out to dinner next week.” Haymir’s smug satisfaction dropped in an instant, and Rosie crooked an eyebrow meaningfully. “I find you both irrational and irritating. You seem to find it impossible that people could understand or see things from a different perspective unless they fit an exact set of criteria. I have a vagina that God gave to me, skin that looks like yours, and a habit of pissing people off. We’re a match made in hell.”

“Can we begin?” Haymir demanded harshly.

“By all means,” Rosie said with a smirk, waving her hand airily.

Haymir cleared her throat and laced her hands together on the table. “There’s no reason to bring my client to court.” Rosie’s eyebrows rose while Harry leaned back in his seat with a growing smile, attention focused primarily on Rosie with interest. “Mr. Bailey is well aware that his life is subject to public scrutiny and speculation. That he now seeks to take to court a member of the press whose fault was in reporting a story brought to her from a source and in the interest of the public—”

“Let me stop you right there,” Rosie drawled, turning her head towards Sully before beaming. “If you’re about to suggest that Mrs. Gallagher isn’t libel for damages due public interest, you’re absolutely incorrect. Public interest as a defense does not apply in cases where the information exposed reports on the sexual life of a subject.” Haymir narrowed her eyes, and Rosie shrugged one shoulder. “I can read journalism laws too.”

Frustrated Haymir blurted, “There’s not reason for this sort of suit to go to court! So a member of the press reported on the sexual orientation of a public figure. The photos released were only speculation and innuendo. She didn’t ‘out’ him.”

“Photos of me kissing a man, are outing me! I can’t deny that. It’s clearly me. It’s clearly Salem.” Bailey scoffed in disbelief, giving Haymir not even an ounce of leeway. “And since photography wasn’t allowed at that party, private pictures never should have been released. This started out as Georgia Hanson’s privacy law violation, but _Maggie_ chose to publish them.”

“I’m sure we can come to an agreement,” Haymir continued swiftly. “While this created an uncomfortable situation, _Maggie_ can’t singlehandedly hold responsibility for the damages this caused.”

“Of course not,” Rosie agreed brightly, clapping her hands together and resting her interlaced hands on the table. “Which is why when Salem obtained a copy of the email from Georgia Hanson, we’ll be adding her to this lawsuit as well. We’re equal opportunity. You’re all guilty. And if you think a London court won’t find her guilty in 2019 for violating the privacy of a closeted gay footballer, you’re out of your mind.”

Haymir slid a quick glance towards Maggie who scowled but nodded. Simon squeezed her hand reassuringly, and Harry almost sighed. They were ridiculous. Like Maggie was being persecuted instead of punished.

“Let’s discuss a settlement. Mrs. Gallagher’s a businesswoman with a thriving career. It’s simply unacceptable that these proceedings impact her business arrangements indefinitely. Particularly when the so-called victim remains employed with no apparent adverse ill-effects,” Haymir inserted smoothly.

“No adverse effects?” Bailey demanded caustically. “Death threats, gay slurs, and prejudice aren’t ‘adverse effects’? Are you mentally deficient?”

Harry couldn’t quite stifle a snigger.

Outraged, Haymir’s face purpled with rage. She opened her mouth to begin speaking when Rosie cut her off smoothly.

“Your client’s lacking ethics are the reason she is currently unemployed. Mr. Bailey cannot lay claim to this particular consequence,” Rosie stated sharply. “And we’re not interested in a settlement. The fact is your client violated Mr. Bailey’s right to privacy knowing full and well the laws that such a decision breached. She risked Mr. Bailey’s career, his relationship, and his relationship with peers and family in addition to his professional responsibilities in order to achieve her own ends. She’s reaping the rewards of the seeds she sowed. We are not responsible for how the rest of the world chose to view her despicable actions. And as she remains utterly remorseless, I can have no option but to pursue legal action to ensure that she understands the repercussions of such a heinous action financially the way she doesn’t socially. These are the options we’re left with.”

“How can you condone destroying the livelihood of a vibrant, intelligent self-made woman?” Haymir demanded of Rosie, voice shrilly and indignant as she stared down her nose at Harry’s bored best friend.

“Because I’m a woman not a psychopath. I don’t have to like, agree with, or protect Mrs. Gallagher just because we share anatomy. That’s the difference between me and you,” Rosie informed the woman, tone arctic. “I think we’re done here.”

Rosie started to stand with Bailey and Sully following her lead.

“I don’t,” Maggie purred, eyes flitting to land on Harry and narrowing, her lips twisted up into a derisive sneer. “I’m not asking for much, Harold. A little bit of a break. And we all know that if you washed your hands of this mess, it would go nowhere.”

“I think you severely underestimate Salem,” Harry returned tonelessly, interested but cautious of where this was going.

Behind him Harry could see Bailey, Rosie, and Sully watching he and Maggie, the scene reflected in the glossy surface of the glass window stretching floor to ceiling and offering an unobstructed view of the gray London day and rain drizzling over the city.

Maggie grinned. “Would you protect him so fiercely if you knew I could ruin Maverick? You are friends aren’t you? You and Maverick.”

‘Friends’ wasn’t dripping with intonation and inneuendo. Maggie seemed to truly believe that ‘friends’ was the end of things. If that was so, then the only other thing she had to latch onto now that Dido Lynn Darby had been neutralized would be Theodore’s drug problem, which he’d been in the midst of the first time Maggie met Theodore. High and hanging all over Alina at Salem’s store grand opening.

“He’s my friend,” Harry agreed, face dropping. “And my client. What is it exactly that you think you have? That he’s been having an affair with Alina Rosen for years? Old news and no one would believe it. Not now. That he’s addicted to drugs? _Away for the Weekend_ negated that problem. That he’s an alcoholic? This is news that would no longer surprise anyone.” Harry paused, relishing the way Maggie’s face dropped. He rose to his feet and button his suit jacket casually, chin length hair falling into his face.

Then, he looked up at Maggie.

“Let me make this clear: right now you’re tabloid poison. Every celebrity, blogger, YouTuber, social justice activist, LGBTQ group in the western world is looking at you. No tabloid will touch you until this dies. Even if it wasn’t, do you think you can take Maverick? You already aimed for Arthur Bailey and Konstantin Kimura-Petrov. Do you think you can handle three behemoths at once? Because I think I’ll eat you alive. You’re not going to court because you’re a shady pap. You’re going to court because you’re an unrepentant shit that everyone wants to see burn. Congratulations on uniting the Avengers, no one’s going to let you walk. No one’s going to let this die. You made your bed, Margaret, now lie in it. You know better than to come after Maverick. You knew better than to go after Salem and Bailey. Don’t make the same mistake twice.”

With that last word, Harry whirled on his heel, heart pounding as he stalked out the room.

“See you in court,” he heard Rosie chirp behind him before rushing to catch up with him. She gripped his wrist in her hand and leaned into him. “Are you okay?”

“She’s not looking for anything so right now there’s nothing to find.”

“Not yet,” Rosie spoke the words for him. “People will catch on.”

“I have a plan.”

Rosie smiled and bumped her hip against his, lacing their hands together and nodding in agreement. “Of course you do.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Regardless of how you personally feel about the BDS (and I seriously do not want to know because I have very strong feelings about this group and do no want to engage in an online argument) this entire conversation was made to knock Maggie's lawyer off balance. It worked. Also I had to study journalism laws in college for the UK and this is true. Sexual practices doesn't count as 'public interest' and therefore breaches privacy law.


	44. "Mine" by Phoebe Ryan

**RT by @MaverickOfficial**

**Mckinley @MckinleyDesandas**

Everyone on planet earth should listen to ‘Let Me Tell You A Story’ I’m so ready for @MaverickOfficial next album ^.^

**YouTube Channel, Real Talk Daily: Maverick’s Single Drops**

**Mckinley:** So it’s finally happened!

**Savvy:** Mckinley!

**Mckinley:** Oh let me have a moment to fangirl. It’s been three years since Maverick dropped a full studio album. I’m pumped and saddened.

**Savvy:** For people who aren’t in the know, Maverick dropped the first single off his fifth studio album last night. The album and its cover art were released just yesterday, it’s being called _Stress Fractures_. The single, ‘Let Me Tell You A Story’, was released just today, and even I—who am not a superfan—am in love with this song.

**Mckinley:** The one thing Maverick’s always been good at is creating really visceral relatable songs. I can’t relate to _everything_ in Let Me Tell You A Story, but it’s got a great beat and discusses things like lying and addiction and losing control and trying to gain things back. It’s such a good song. I cannot wait for this album. I cannot wait for this tour.

**Savvy:** The music video’s being released tonight so stayed tuned for that.

**Mckinley:** And stay tuned for the album, which Maverick isn’t doing any pre-release interviews on. So…boo.

 

**Dakota Crosby (@K9_Crosby)**

@TM_1996 my sister is salivating but #nolie I’m very impressed

 

**Teddy Langston (@TM_1996)**

@K9_CrosbyXD #blushes

 

**Thalia Booker (@BookOfTali)**

@MaverickOfficial Broskis, you’re so talented!

 

**Clinton Booker (@NotTheClint)**

@MaverickOfficial @BookOfTali run she’s fangirling.

 

**Thalia Booker (@BookOf Tali)**

@MaverickOfficial @NotTheClint so hard

 

**Maverick (@MaverickOfficial)**

@BookOfTali @NotTheClint November 16th O.o

 

**Maverick reconnects with long-lost siblings at the AMAs**

Popstar Maverick only recently connected with his biological mother, Dido Lynn Darby, who announced their familial relationship while he was on hiatus. While the popstar released a statement claiming he had no interest in reconnecting with Dido Lynn, he has however made an effort for his siblings, Dido Lynn’s thirteen-year-old twins, Thalia and Clinton Booker. The pair were spotted with their famous older brother the night before the AMAs at Casa Bianca Pizzeria near their home in Pasadena. Thalia also escorted her older brother to the AMAs as her brother’s date and congratulated him when he won Favorite Pop/Rock Song for his single, ‘Domesticated’, and cheered him on while performing with Alina Rosen.

 

**Irish Rose (@rosieposie)**

@HaroldBSterling New Orleans!!!!!

 

**Harry Benton-Sterling (@HaroldBSterling)**

@rosieposie do not get excited. Zero fun. I promise

* * *

“Is there a reason you chose to stay in a hotel?” Mabel demanded crossly when she opened the door. Her eyes narrowed on Rosie who rocked back and forth on the soles of her shoes and wiggled her fingers brightly. She stepped aside and allowed the three of them entrance, Attila licking Mabel’s hand in greeting before Theodore bent down to unclip the leash to allow him to run off and play with Mocha, his parent’s chocolate lab. “Mabel Langston Maverick,” she said, holding out a hand for Rosie.

“Rosie Ireland,” she said in greeting. “I had to meet my bestie’s h…boyfriend’s family,” she said, eyes going wide and flitting away when she realized she almost gave things away.

Theodore raised a fist to his mouth, eyes darting up towards the ceiling to stifle a smile.

“You are darlin’ aren’t you? Where are you from?”

“Arizona.”

“Just across the way,” Mabel said with a decisive head nod. Then her eyes returned to Harry and Theodore, growing hawkish and disapproving. She crossed her arms over her chest. “Everyone except your uncle’s family have arrived. That’s nothing to be proud of,” she scolded Theodore.

“That’s just what I planned,” Theodore returned, holding Harry’s hand in his and maneuvering him into the house.

Harry stayed silent. He didn’t dislike the Mavericks. The patriarch and matriarch, Calvin and Donna, ruled the roost with an iron fist and seemed dumbfounded by how things had fallen into such disrepair so quickly despite this. Mabel’s twin sister, May, seemed to have a good head on her shoulders and decent sons even if her daughter, Delilah, needed a serious reality check. Jessica, the fourth-born of the brood, was wild but sweet with a son to match in Sean, the only cousin Theodore liked without reservation and the one he was current paying to attend the University of Tennessee despite the boy’s partial scholarship and without being asked by family. Danielle, the Maverick middle child, was alright even if her kids, Aisha and Wendell, weren’t.

It was Sylvester Maverick’s entire brood that spoiled holidays for Theodore. His mother had insisted he come for Thanksgiving, and Theodore had dragged his heels until Harry had insisted her should.

His mother needed that reassurance.

Theodore had spent the latter half of the week in Los Angeles toting around his half siblings and making awkward small talk with Dido Lynn when he saw her. The queen of R&B and jazz was making an effort to know him that Theodore didn’t seem to reciprocate. Or was afraid to. At the very least he’d found camaraderie with his siblings and with Dido Lynn’s husband, Leroy Booker, a soft-spoken and well-intentioned playwrite who neither chastised Dido Lynn for poor past decisions nor made Theodore feel as though his experiences were unimportant.

Theodore liked Leroy a lot.

Harry even more so.

Curtis seemed at ease with Theodore’s hesitant search for the past that he had been denied, but Mabel appeared utterly insecure by Theodore’s apparent friendliness with the woman who’d birthed him. They both played it up for the tabloids however unintentionally but the result was a relationship that looked a lot more forgiving and healthy than it actually was. Dido Lynn was ruled by her newfound guilt. Theodore was guided by his love for Thalia and Clinton. And since Theodore wasn’t talking to Mabel any longer, the tabloids were the closest to truth the woman received from her son.

Before they could make it passed the entryway, Mabel stepped forward to block their path, arms crossed over her chest. “Hotel?”

Theodore sighed and squeezed the bridge of his nose. “Mama,” he drawled while shaking his head. “I love you. And we’re working on our relationship, but we are not okay. I didn’t want to stay here.”

Mabel flinched back like she’d been smacked.

Harry sighed as he stalked to the backyard where the rest of the family had gathered for their usual outdoor Thanksgiving feast. He paused to offer Mabel a comforting squeeze of the hand. She patted it gently before letting go to collect herself before following Harry down the long hallway into the backyard where the tables had already been set up.

Calvin sat at the head of the table with Donna to his right, their hands interlaced on top of the table as he chatted with his middle daughter, Danielle who sat to his left. Her husband, Xavier, sat beside her. Their son, Wendell, sat across from his father with his sister, Aisha, beside him directly across from Jessica. Beside her was her son, Sean, across from May. Delilah and her husband, Trey sat to May’s left with their eight-year-old daughter, Hannah, between them. Delilah’s brothers, Elton and Terell, sat opposite along with Kerianne, Sylvester’s ex-wife, and her ten-year-old, Kiana.

Looking decidedly uncomfortable, Rosie had been offered a seat between Curtis and Trey. Theodore and Harry squished onto the end of the table opposite her after Theodore had greeted his grandparents, Sean, and aunts in turn. Mabel sat down and met her mother’s eyes across the table.

“Mama, I don’t think Sy’s coming.”

“I think that’s for the best, ain’t it hun?” Donna said, lips pursed and gaze sliding towards Calvin.

“I would never say a word against my children, but Sylvester, now, he’s a special kind of stupid. Ain’t nothing to be done about that,” Calvin reported dismissively. “In any case, shall we say grace?”

The Mavericks were Baptists but not overly religious. As far as Harry had encountered, they said grace over holiday meals but very few went to church with any regularity save for Calvin and Donna and their daughter, May, all dressed in their Sunday best. Curtis had informed Harry that Delilah had picked up the habit once her own daughter had been born, but Xavier—a staunch atheist—was against the practice.

When they finished, the family dug into their meals with fervor.

The big gumbo pot was positioned in the corner of the yard and required each person to rise from their seat to slap some onto the plate before returning to their seat. Harry grabbed both his and Theodore’s portion while Theodore took the opportunity to get first dibs at the side dishes on the table. Macaroni and cheese, collared greens, cornbread, and sweet potatoes, Theodore made sure to pile some onto the plate before popping a crawfish into his mouth with a giddy smile.

When Harry returned, they didn’t bother divvying up their portions, only taking their fill and eating off of each other’s plates. Rosie nibbled on her cornbread with the utmost amusement before cracking open a crawfish and tossing it back into her mouth.

“Rosie dear,” Kerianne said sweetly, “you don’t have any family that expect to see you on Thanksgiving? Or a boyfriend?”

Rosie laughed and shook her head. “My brother’s interning with a photographer in Scotland so my mother went on some cruise with a bunch of her friends. And my boyfriend’s a Brit.”

“And on tour,” Harry reminded her with amusement.

She shrugged her shoulders dismissively and grinned, “Yeah, that too.”

“Speaking of tours,” Jessica said with a breezy smile. “Are you planning on touring with this album of yours, Theodore?”

“I don’t know,” he hedged, grinning. Theodore turned his head towards Harry and said, “Am I touring with this album, Harold?”

Harry shrugged, “Yes? I mean: definitely, but the label’s been calling me for days about touring information that you won’t answer.”

“Back to back world tours are unusual.” Theodore answered meekly. “Is it even financially sound?”

Balking, Harry rested his chin on his fist and gazed at Theodore steadily. “Do you know how much your last album sold?”

“It went double platinum…right?”

Actually it had sold over ten million copies worldwide, but obviously Theodore neither cared nor had been appraised. This was the reason Harry had personally sat down to have a chat with Theodore’s accounting…and hired a second one to scour the books just to account for an possible errors. Theodore’s income was outrageous, and Theodore’s attentiveness towards that aspect of his career lacked the same thoroughness that he displayed in writing and creating. Two accountants, a financial planner, and Harry’s own oversight still apparently hadn’t made a dent into Theodore’s interest in his own finances.

“Do you know how much your last world tour made?”

Theodore grimaced.

“Quarter of a billion dollars,” Rosie answered. Most of the table choked while she smirked at Theodore’s alarmed expression. “Weren’t expecting that?”

“How much are tickets?” Theodore asked, wincing.

“A lot,” Harry didn’t bother to lie. Theodore grimaced yet again. “The point is: do you want to do a second world tour? It’s been two years since you finished _Away for the Weekend_ , or it will be by the time you start touring. Everyone recoups a profit. That much you don’t have to worry about.”

Theodore hummed thoughtfully, tilting back his head and grinning impishly. “Another world tour?”

“Another world tour,” Harry agreed, bemused.

“Another world tour, SNL, Ellen, The Late Late Show with James Cordon…if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you had a hand in my publicity tour after the album comes out.” Theodore teased, waggling his eyebrows cheerfully.

“Is he not handling your press anymore?” Delilah inquired curiously, gaze roving between the pair of them with suspicion.

“Christ sake’s, Delilah,” her mother cried in disbelief

“An associate is,” Harry remarked tonelessly before swinging his gaze to where Theodore waited for an answer expectantly. “But I know quite a few more people, and I did throw you into the deep end a little. Andy Cohen even called your people to request an interview on _Watch What Happens Live_.”

“You fucking said yes, right?” Theodore demanded excitedly.

Harry feigned confusion, blinking at Theodore dumbly. “Do you _like_ that show?”

His expression went flinty as he pointed at him with his fork. “I don’t believe you.”

“Don’t,” Rosie remarked with amusement. “He’s full of shit.”

“Rosie!” Harry hissed, “Children.”

“Crap.”

“Not better,” Harry stated.

“Poop-poop, doo-doo, idiocy, you know?” Rosie rolled her eyes and waved a hand airily. “I don’t speak kid.”

“Obviously,” Harry agreed.

Donna stood up and cleared her throat until the table silenced and all eyes swiveled towards her. “It’s time for yearly announcements. You all know how it goes. Per nuclear family. In order from oldest to youngest. Cal and I,” Donna said, squeezing her husband’s hand with a grateful smile, “will go first: we’ve decided to dedicate our summer to traveling. We’ll be going to Europe this summer and taking an 18-day Jewel of Central Europe rail and boat tour and following it up with a Silk Road tour in Turkmenistan, Uzbekistan, and Kazakhstan.”

The table went silent.

“What?”

“Nice, grandma,” Theodore said agreeably while Rosie fist-pumped in agreement.

“Are you out of your mind?” Aisha hissed, “Our grandparents can’t go to Uzbekistan. It’s the Middle East!”

“Not really,” Harry hedged, “more like north of central Asia.”

“I’ve never been there, so it sounds like fun.”

Before anyone could argue, Mabel stood up and silenced the table.

“Curtis and I have decided to foster animals together, and he is going back into business and opening up an autobody repair shop in Metairie with a longtime friend of ours,” Mabel said before promptly sitting in her seat and looking over at her sister. “May?”

May rose shakily to her feet and raised her glass with a nervous smile. “I met a man…named Gulliermo de la Rocha. He’s Spanish and Portuguese but lives right now in Key Largo as the head chef of a restaurant on the island. I’ve decided to sell my house and move down to Key Largo to live with him.” She downed the rest of her wine and dropped to sit down abruptly.

“What the fuck, Mom?” Terell demanded in disbelief.

“What about Terell?” Delilah demanded. “He’s only twenty. He lives with you.”

“When he’s home from college,” Elton inserted, shrugging when his siblings glared at him. “Time to step up and take one for the team, Del. I don’t live close enough or in a big enough place for him to stay with me.”

“He’s not _my_ responsibility,” Delilah growled while Terell sank lower in his seat.

Elton shook his head, “He’s your brother.”

Danielle stood up and smiled uncertainly at Xavier. “Xav and I have decided…we’re going to start flipping houses.”

Aisha gaped and threw a disbelieving look to her brother. Wendell scoffed, “What do you two know about real estate?”

“I guess we’ll learn,” Danielle shrugged with an excited smile.

“I love house flipping,” Rosie said with a bright grin.

Jessica stood as her sister sat down and inhaled deeply. “I think I’m a lesbian.” The whole table balked. “And I’ve recently started seeing a woman named Tamara.”

Theodore frowned and tilted his head. “Tamara Salt?”

“Yes…” Jessica admitted cautiously, smile shaky.

“The singer from Love and Hip-Hop: Atlanta?”

“Yes,” Jessica continued with an uneasy grin.

Harry raised his eyebrows and nodded without bothering to say anything, allowing the family’s disbelief to speak for itself.

Delilah cleared her throat and stood. “Trey and I are going to try for another baby,” she said quickly before sitting down.

Elton stood next and clapped his hands together. “I’m moving to New York to join an advertising agency in Manhattan.”

“Congrats, bro,” Terell said happily and rising to his feet. “My agent says I’m being scouted by some pro teams, and by this time next year I might be drafted in the NFL.”

Harry crooked an eyebrow, and Theodore nudged him into clapping.

Aisha swept to her feet with a snarky grin and flipped her hair over her shoulder. “Well, I’m hoping this is the year I get married. The attorney I’ve been seeing in New York seems to have gotten serious. So this may be the year, and hopefully we’ll come to meet the family for Christmas.”

The women squealed while Theodore and Harry met gazes and shook their heads. Rosie hid a snicker. The attorney in question both Harry and Rosie knew. Damien Young was a young go-getter with the chops to go far, but he had been engaged to his girlfriend, Mara, for close to six months. Unless bigamy was another line he was willing to cross, Harry very much doubted that Damien would be proposing to Aisha anytime at all let alone sometime this year.

Wendell stood and smirked, “I’ll be going to Seville in Spain this year to start working on my Atlantic history dissertation.”

Sean cleared his throat when dozens of eyes turned towards him. Awkwardly, he rose to his feet and stuck his hands in his pockets with an uncertain smile. “First: ya’ll skipped Teddy,” he narrowed his eyes on Delilah who tipped up her chin and rolled her eyes. “Second: I was invited to join both a gaming team and a robotics team that compete in national competitions and are ranked well in both. I don’t know which I’ll choose yet, but I’m excited.”

“Me too,” Theodore said with a bright smile. “I’m happy for you.”

Tipping up his chin, Sean said, “Your turn.”

Cautiously, Theodore nodded and rose to his feet. He cleared his throat and smiled awkwardly, fisting his sweaty palms. He cleared his throat uncomfortably and looked down at Harry with a slight smile before running a trembling hand through his hair. Rosie raised her eyebrows and sipped her spiked Sweet Tea with an amused grin.

“I’m…married.”

The whole table fell silent before Donna exclaimed, “Yes! It’s about time, boy. I wondered how long this would go on for. When’s the wedding? Where’s the wedding? I’m so excited!”

“No…”Theodore started uncertainly. “We’re _already_ married.”

Mabel tensed and glared at her son. “You’d better not tell me that you eloped, Theodore Dean Maverick. Tell me you didn’t.”

Theodore swallowed and smiled thinly. “We did. In France. After I got out of rehab.”

“You…moron…” Delilah declared stubbornly.

“Stop,” Sean cut in, eyes on Delilah. “Do you ever just stop?”

“Teddy, tell me you didn’t do this to your grandmother…” Donna said slowly.

Theodore laughed uncomfortably and rubbed the back of his neck. “Sorry, grandma.”

Calvin devolved into laughter while Donna collapsed into her seat, stewing in her anger. “Good on you, boy. This family woulda made the whole wedding a production. Like they haven’t already been told they ain’t getting nothing from you post-mortem. Don’t be selfish. Ya’ll drove him to it.”

“Already married?” Mabel inquired dumbfounded.

Theodore gripped Harry’s hand so tightly that the bones creaked.

Rosie waved a hand in tacit dismissal. “Don’t be so alarmed. They didn’t tell me or Alina either, and we’re way higher on the totem pole than family.”

Harry supposed that was true, but it didn’t lessen the sting.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Casa Bianca Pizzeria is a real pizzeria near Pasadena. And yes they're having gumbo for Thanksgiving. This is not because I think gumbo is a Louisiana staple and this would be done (though my research says it is done with frequency) it's because I personally hate turkey. So not having to write about turkey made me happy.


	45. "Castle on the Hill" by Ed Sheeran

**The Mike & Molly Show K102.9**

**Molly:** And we’ve got a very special guest calling in to give everyone a Merry Christmas shout out. Go ahead.

 **Maverick:** Hi! It’s not really Christmas…more like an early Christmas. Christmas Eve Eve Eve Eve Eve?

 **Mike:** There’s a few more ‘Eves’.

 **Maverick:** Yeah, there’s like a solid week until Christmas, but school get out very very soon, and I’ll be out of touch so I figured I should surprise Xmas-Attack today

 **Mike:** Out of touch? You going to the moon?

 **Molly:** Any special Christmas plans?

 **Maverick:** Yeah, I’m wrapping up filming for the second single’s music video and then off for Christmas.

 **Molly:** With the fam?

 **Maverick:** My family’s so complicated now! But yes with, like, the whole family. And the girlfriend. We’re heading off to Alaska to spend Christmas in rentals but like together…so…it will be madness of the most interesting kind.

 **Mike:** This the adventure Dido Lynn Darby was discussing with Ellen last night.

 **Maverick:** A bunch of profs, celebs, and southerners up in Alaska. What could go wrong?

 **Molly:** Watch out for bears!

 **Maverick:** …you know those hibernate during the winter, right?

 

**Tamzin (@tamtheman)**

@MaverickOfficial gives the best surprises. Thanks for showing up at JingleBall to perform with @AlinaAzadi ^.^.^.^.^

 

**Lions At Sunset (@lionleona)**

@MaverickOfficial released the lyric vid for his second single #stressfractures #maveratics #setthishouseonfire

 

**Clinton Booker (@NotTheClint)**

7 days till xmas…4 days till AK…#silentscream

 

**Thalia Booker (@BookOfTali)**

@NotTheClint I’m so freaking excited!!!!

 

**Maverick (@MaverickOfficial)**

The best part about flying private is that my doggu gets to run free instead of being locked in the cargo hold

 

**Alina Rosen (@AlinaAzadi)**

@MaverickOfficial don’t act like you haven’t given a bribe to let the dog come to first class with you.

 

**Maverick (@MaverickOfficial)**

I mean guilty as charged…

 

To: haroldbsterling@sterlingandireland.com

Cc: jamiedutch@sterlingandireland.com

From: preston.duke@godfreygroup.com

Subject: RE: RE: Marriage Certificate

Harry,

I know Jamie and I have discussed this ad nauseum but there has to be a plan I’m not privy too, right? This isn’t cloak and dagger dating. This is a marriage with a marriage certificate and official documentation and paperwork and proof. I’m concerned. I’m very concerned. Is Mav coming out? Does he want to? Does he not? Is there preparation for if someone finds this? I need to know so I can prepare on my end.

Best,

Preston Duke

Talent Management, The Godfrey Group

 

**Teddy Langston (@TM_1996)**

There’s so much snow in Alaska. The most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. I swear

 

**Maverick (@MaverickOfficial)**

Merry Christmas! Happy (early?) Kwanza. Happy (late) Hanukah. Enjoy your holiday season!

* * *

Theodore found him patio outside just before the rest of the family awoke for Christmas. The fire pit in the middle of the wooden patio crackled and popped from the fire while Harry sat cross-legged on the L-shaped outdoor sectional with his snow boots laying haphazardly on the ground and shroud in two blankets. Half of his hair had been tied back at the crown of his head, earbuds in his ears as he bobbed his head to the music, and a tablet on his knee. One hand had on a fleece-lined leather glove while the other grasped a stylus, jotting down notes hastily on the tablet.

Attila loped across the patio, playing happily in the snow.

Half-smiling. Theodore slid open the door glass door and stepped outside. Despite wearing long johns and his parka, Theodore shivered and pulled his skullcap lower on his head.

The sky was gray. Not in the same sort of overcast way as London most days but subtler, the gray of a cloudless sky receiving only a small percentage of the sun’s rays. It would lighten throughout the day, but not considerably, and Theodore found he almost liked the perpetual dark eeriness of Alaskan winters. They were comforting, cozy, romantic even in a way that he hadn’t expected.

The dog trotted over to him cheerfully, tail wagging and new playmate toddling along behind him on unsteady legs. Wu Zetian was barely three months and already shockingly large. A Husky/Rottweiler mix, she was beautiful with Rottweiler coloring, one floppy ear and one pointed, and adorable. She had been an accidental acquisition. The dog walker for the local Anchorage shelter hadn’t been paying close enough attention and had run through the streets calling out for the puppy while they’d been walking Attila in downtown Anchorage.

Catching the puppy’s scent, Attila had leapt into action, chased her down, and carried her back in his teeth, growling every time the shelter volunteer had tried to take her back. Harry’s heart had melted first, and Harry had been halfway through filling out the adoption papers by the time Theodore realized what was happening.

Boy was she cute though.

Her tiny paws pressed against Theodore’s leg, the moisture from melted snow on her paws bleeding through the fabric of his sweatpants. He bent down to scratch behind her ears before crossing over to throw an arm around Harry’s neck and press a kiss beneath his ear.

Theodore plucked the headphone out of Harry’s ear and inserted it in his own, eyebrows raising when he heard his own voice singing.

Harry was listening to _Stress Fractures._

It both warmed him and mortified him, as it had when he’d downloaded it onto an mp3 player and tossed it at him weeks ago when he’d finished. Harry hadn’t said much, which was a comfort. If he’d hated the album, Harry would have said something, and Harry knew that for all Theodore poured his heart out in his music, he was too sensitive to want to hear Harry’s honest—and biased—opinion of Theodore’s music.

When his eyes fell on the list of topics, radio programs, magazines, and entertainment shows, Theodore eased some. At the very least, if Harry was in professional mode, then Theodore wouldn’t have to hear commentary about his music. Sappy. Sympathetic. Touched. That was entirely too much for Theodore to take. He wouldn’t be able to properly maintain his composure if Harry ever tipped his hand and showed too much. Knowing they loved each other enough to be wed was one thing, but having Harry acknowledge the depth of that, exposed in music and lyrics, was not something Theodore could handle.

“Morning baby,” Theodore said with a cheeky smile, popping the wireless bud into his ear and turning Harry’s head to give him a deep, open-mouthed kiss. What was meant to be a quick greeting abruptly transitioned to Harry tongue-fucking Theodore under he was moaning, hands gripping the jacket tightly. When Harry drew back, Theodore blinked at him dazedly and grinned blissfully. “Happy Christmas.”

“How do you manage to fool everyone into thinking you’re so American?” Harry inquired with amusement, pressing another, quicker kiss to Theodore’s lips. “Happy Christmas, love.”

“Is this for me?”

“It is.” Harry said absently, setting the tablet aside and turning to Theodore so he could cup his face in his hands. “With the amount of information you’re revealing in the album, the post-release interviews are going to be a bit more serious than just Ellen and James Cordon. We’re looking at Oprah to discuss your drug addiction. Good Morning America. Jonathan Ross, Graham Norton. Derek Havershim. Iri and Cherrie have asked again, but that’s up to you. Billboard, Vogue, GQ. A lot of people who heard things pre-release want interviews with you so we’ll walk through them, but I can tell you right now: this is not a free for all. Not everyone is going to get an interview.”

Theodore hummed and pressed a kiss to Harry’s cheek. “I trust you.”

Harry turned to give Theodore a lingering kiss on the lips. “I know you do.”

“But Andy Cohen…?”

“On the list,” Theodore agreed.

“And Alan Carr…?”

“Already confirmed.”

Laughing, Theodore pressed a kiss to Harry’s lips, slipping into his lap to straddle him, arms wrapped around his neck. “I love you.”

“Apparently,” Harry said, hand cupping Theodore’s erection, undeterred by the glacial climate, but his words were a reference to the music still playing in their ear. He nipped Theodore’s neck, and Theodore groaned, head tipping back, hips rocking to press his erection more firmly against Harry’s hand, and a blissful moan spreading across his face. “People are going to ask about this song.”

Theodore grinned and twined his fingers into Harry’s hair. “About being married you mean?” Harry grunted in agreement, lips and teeth moving down the column of Theodore’s throat as his hand ready in place allow Theodore to work himself over at his own pace, hips rolling lazily against the touch. “But I _am_ married,” he whispered in Harry’s ear, nipping the curve of Harry’s ear slightly.

“Teddy,” Harry warned with a growl.

Laughing, Theodore pressed his forehead against Harry’s eyes meeting as the song he’d written about their relationship, about their committing to one another, played musically in their ears. “What should I say then? It’s just a song? It’s not about me? I’m a bachelor then?”

Harry hand tightened almost painfully on Theodore’s cock, bite on his collarbone vicious and breathtaking. Heart flooded his veins. That moment’s pain exploding into a burst of intense pleasure that caused his breath to stutter and hips to jerk. A broken moan was expelled from between his lips, hands grasping for purchase on Harry’s shoulders.

“What was that?” Harry asked in a dangerous whisper.

“Harry, Harry, baby. Please,” Theodore panted, hips jerking shallowly and fingernails digging into the skin of Harry’s shoulders. “You know I’m yours. You know I won’t.”

“Bachelor my arse,” Harry drawled pressing a kiss to Theodore’s lips. He bit Theodore’s lip and tugged lightly, drawing another groan out of his throat. “You haven’t been a bachelor since the day we met.”

“Fucking, absolutely,” Theodore grinned blissfully melting against Harry when the hard grip become a sensuous stroke through the thin fabric of Theodore’s joggers. “I don’t know what I’m going to say, but it’s not that.”

Harry nodded in agreement. “Better figure it out, babe.”

“I need to fucking cum,” Theodore told him breathlessly.

Laughing under his breath, Harry ran a hand over Theodore’s face and nodded, “You always do.”

Before they could so much as kiss, a loud rap on the sliding glass door startled both of them into turning towards the door.

Attila barked automatically while Wu Zetian cowered beneath the bigger dog with a tiny growl and a wag of her tail.

Johanna cracked the door open, her natural curls sticking up every which way and donning an ugly cat Christmas sweater over _Grinch_ fleece pants. “Hey, stop humping on the back porch and come inside. Everyone’s awake and searching for you two idiots.”

Harry sighed and shifted Theodore off his lap to stand.

Theodore balked at Harry. “You’re seriously going to leave me like this?”

“What am I supposed to do?” He teased with a dismissive shrug. “I can’t get you off with your family on the other side of the translucent door. Be a big boy and wait until we’re done having family time.” When Theodore started to argue, Harry cut him off with a terse nod of his head. “ _Your_ family time. I left mine in the UK.”

“Fuck off.” Theodore huffed, unzipping his jacket and letting the shock of bitter cold shock his erection into dying.

The dogs slipped inside the house before him, Harry following close behind.

Renting the house for everyone to get to know each other had been Mabel’s—and Johanna’s—idea. She wanted to know his biological family especially since he’d made an effort to connect with his newfound siblings. All the kids and Johanna had been on board. It had been Dido Lynn and Franklin who’d been the most resistant to a large family get-together, but when their spouses had gotten involved with planning, they had been overruled. Harry hadn’t made any mention of how everyone had wound up exchanging numbers, but somehow Leroy, Mabel, Curtis, and Angelica had been communicated across continents with Harry playing dumb.

Theodore hadn’t pressed.

Altogether, Alaska provided enough stimulation that tensions had rarely given way to explosive fights.

Leroy and Angelica got on famously and spent every waking minute battling each other in Words With Friends and Chess. Thalia and Clinton had found fast friends in Franklin’s thirteen-year-old son, Apollo, as well as his fifteen-year-old, Crystal. Johanna and her fiancé, Nate, had spent much of the trip going off on their own excursions, sometimes with Harry and Theodore in tow, only to rejoin the group for dinner.

Franklin was scowling at the head of the table, lip curled back as he read the newspaper. Angelica and Leroy sat across from each other at the table nursing coffees while Curtis reclined in a chair laughing at their conversation and pouring milk into his tea.

Dido Lynn swept out of the hallway as they entered, crossing her arms and raising her eyebrows.

“Did you two get up this early just to screw on the back porch?”

Theodore flushed, mortified, while Harry rolled his eyes and nudged him into the kitchen.

“Might I suggest your bedroom?” Nate called out playfully as he greeted Mabel with a kiss on the cheek.

“You two were supposed to be making breakfast,” Dido Lynn pursued. “It was your turn.”

“I was cooking,” Harry argued. He shooed Theodore out of the way and snagged the oven mitt off the counter, pulling out fresh made blueberry and chocolate chip muffins. He set them atop the stove. “See, breakfast? Muffins.” Harry walked to the refrigerator and pulled out yogurts and fruit. “Fruit salad. Yogurt.”

“Very DIY,” Curtis agreed with a laugh.

“European, Dad,” Theodore corrected teasingly.

“I swore you could cook,” Curtis said, crooking an eyebrow at Harry.

He smiled wryly. “Only on the weekdays.”

“It’s Wednesday,” Johanna remarked, swiping a yogurt off the counter and sitting down.

“Should I make bacon?” Nate volunteered with a guileless smile.

“No!” The whole kitchen chimed, not needing to revisit the arrival of the fire department when he set the sausages on fire. Apparently they’d seen the smoke and heard the fire alarm from the street and were just ‘passing through.’ Literally. But it had been embarrassing nonetheless.

Clinton swept into the kitchen and pointed at Nate with a hesitant look on his face. “How about _I_ make the bacon.”

“I’ll make eggs,” Crystal volunteered while her brother rolled his eyes and sat down on the couch, pulling out the portable gaming device Salem had recently released. Bringing back those sorts of games rather than cell phone applications. Salem was a one-man wonder device. Thalia flicked Apollo in the side of the head and sidled over to the kitchen. Crystal accepted a pan from Clinton and curled back her lip at Harry. “Weak man.”

“My cooking skills are limited to two people only.”

“Said no one ever,” Johanna chimed in.

“How are you going to feed your kids when you get knocked up?” Thalia asked teasingly.

“Ha. Ha.” Harry rolled his eyes, swatting at her. She darted away to hide behind Theodore who caught her by the back of the neck and offered her to Harry. She squirmed, and Harry tickled her sides until she fell out on the floor. “I just didn’t want to cook,” Harry admitted with a shrug.

Angelica tapped a finger on her nose and pointed at Harry without looking up from the game of chess open on the tablet between her and Leroy.

“You baked though,” Mabel inserted, kissing Harry on the cheek and swooping up Wu Zetian. Theodore smiled at his mother, and she lightly slapped her hand against his cheek. “Good try, darling.”

“Thank you, Mabel.”

“He’s an excellent son-in-law,” Mabel said brightly to Angelica who laughed as the kids shot him disbelieving looks.

Harry pointed at them teasingly before grabbing a serving platter from the cabinet and setting it down for Crystal to deposit the eggs on. Following his thought process, Theodore pulled out a plate for Clinton, and he piled the crispy strips of bacon onto the plate. Thalia took the carton of orange juice out of the refrigerator and set it onto the table, kissing her father’s cheek playfully before settling down in the seat beside him.

“Lazy son-in-law,” Dido Lynn corrected cheekily, stifling laughter when Harry flicked her off over his shoulder.

Theodore settled cross-legged on the nearest seat, eyes following Harry as he worked.

It really was a shame that he’d decided to remain at least partially closeted for the next couple year because as much as Theodore would protest, the one thing he wanted more than anything was to coax him into a music video to show everyone else exactly how taken he was. That was a long way off. He wasn’t Troye Sivan, and Theodore liked the freedom that being closeted offered him. Once he came out the pressure to behave a certain way, act a certain way, even give to charity a certain way was overwhelming. As were the limitations, Theodore adored traveling, and the list of places where he wouldn’t be encouraged if he came out wasn’t massive but it was sizeable.

His music still took precedence, and Harry wasn’t so concerned about publicly holding hands as he was with Theodore remembering to keep his dick in his pants.

That much he could do.

“You know, you could have a son-in-law too, dad. An excellent one, if you stopped being so pigheaded,” Johanna said lightly as she sat at the table.

Apollo and Crystal both paused and looked up, sharing quick wide-eyed glances.

Theodore frowned as Franklin lowered his paper to stare at his daughter.

“Haven’t we discussed this already?” Franklin asked with a sigh.

“Honey,” Angelica said pleasantly, tone deceptively calming.

“You don’t like him either,” Franklin reminded her. She grimaced while Dido Lynn’s eyebrows rose. She stole a strip of bacon off the plate and offered it to Leroy who broke a piece off wordlessly and tossed it into his mouth. They watched with as much interest as everyone else. “Harry’s a successful business owner. He worked for one of the biggest talent management companies in the UK. And he doesn’t have children. Can Nate say the same?”

Nate shoveled some eggs onto his plate and snagged one of Harry’s muffins from the platter, uninterested in the conversation. Theodore narrowed his eyes, sliding his gaze towards Harry.

“Nate’s not a publicist. He’s a _teacher_ , an educator.”

“Like you,” Mabel stated helpfully.

“ _Not_ like me,” Franklin said through clenched teeth.

“And who gets to talk about illegitimate children when you threw your son out because you were ashamed of your actions!”

Harry leaned in, humming, and asked, “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” Theodore said with a burgeoning smile. “It’s not _my_ drama.”

“It’s your family,” Harry retorted, reaching over to steal his puppy away from Mabel. She refused to relinquish the pup without a fight, sending her and Harry into squabbling.

Yeah, Theodore thought with a smile. It was his family. A warm feeling spread through him at the thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't forget but apparently my landlord is suddenly trying to freeze me out of house and home. I am thoroughly defrosted and you get a chapter. I recommend everyone visit Alaska when they get a chance. If I wasn't pursuing a career in the literary industry (and have student loans up to my eyeballs) I'd move there.


	46. "Sun Comes Up" Rudimental ft. James Arthur

**Harry Benton-Sterling (@HaroldBSterling)**

I got a new furry baby ^.^ #WuZetian #adorable

 

**Dakota Crosby (@K9_Crosby)**

@HaroldBSterling @TM_1996 don’t you two ever stop?

 

**Teddy Langston (@TM_1996)**

@K9_Crosby this one was all @HaroldBSterling…just like the cats

 

**Tumblr Post: redwavemaveratic**

**I have this crazy theory…**

So the going theory seems to be that Maverick’s vacation was either to hide from the public, go to couples therapy, or go to rehab. I don’t disagree…but…he came back from vacation with that like $1500 meteorite and dinosaur bone ring that 1999maverealness found on a website for men’s wedding bands, tinydancer_eliza swore she saw Maverick coming out of the town hall in Lyon where they would perform marriages, and lawyer maveratic lawlesslilly10 said that Maverick was in France long enough that he could apply in the country. I think (and I know how crazy it sounds) that he got married before he came back.

#maveratics #maveraticsunite #wedding #marriage #stressfractures

**realmav1001**

Married??? I would literally die. But I mean I could see it

#maveratics #maveraticsunite #marriage #stressfractures

**catandmaverick**

I could totes see it though. He’s that kind of crae u know? I mean he’s always talked about this girl like he’s super in love with her, it would make sense he just up and married her

#ihopeitstrue #truelove #otp #maveratics #maveraticsunite #marriage

**16_kcAnnMaverick**

Hate to be the tinhatter in the bunch but tinydancer_eliza saw Maverick at the mairie with a MAN…

#maveratics #maveraticsunite #notverylikely #butitwouldbecool #nolie

**thatrainbowmav**

Hate to say but he could be married to a man

#equalopportunity @maveraticsunite #maveratics #notatinhatter #butyouknow #itspossible

**MaMaMaveratic**

OKAY BUT BEFORE WE ARGUE STRESS FRACTURES IS OUT GO LISTEN OMFG

#stressfractures #maveratics #maveraticsunite #iamfreakingout #holycrap #myovarieshaveexploded

 

**Alina Rosen (@AlinaAzadi)**

@Marley_Afwa StressssssFracturesssssss though…………!!!!!!!!!

 

**Marley Afwa (@Marley_Afwa)**

@AlinaAzadi don’t speak I’m over here dying of feels. Holy fucking shit

 

**Cris Emerson (@Cris_Emerson)**

@DorianII did you listen? Did you hear? I didn’t know I was waiting until I heard it!!!! #stressfractures

 

**Irial Dorian (@DorianII)**

@Cris_Emerson @Cherrie_TA I will be playing nothing else for the rest of the year just know

 

**Irish Rose (@rosieposie)**

@MaverickOfficial but, just…what? SOMEONE didn’t adequately prepare me for the awesomeness

 

**YouTube Channel, Real Talk Daily: Stress Fractures**

**Mckinley:** I mean, wow, _Stress Fractures._

**Daryl:** I…okay…yes. We were supposed to be talking about this rumor on social media that he married his as-yet-still-anonymous girlfriend in France while on hiatus, but _Stress Fractures._

**Mckinley:** About a week ago, Maverick got fans totally pumped for this album by releasing the music video for his second single, ‘Set This House On Fire’, which is a really graphic but incredibly moving electropop ode to destroying your own life and relationships, then trying to piece together the mess with tape and glue, a call back to _Away for the Weekend_ for non-superfans.

**Daryl:** It’s a great video. Great song. Great message. Go watch it.

**Mckinley:** Yes, but the album follows right along with that theme. It’s a struggle with addiction with sobriety with love with loss with, most of all yourself, and the relationships that built you. This is an incredibly multifaceted album that really just captures Maverick’s journey over the last year or so. It’s beautiful and tragic. I just want to gush forever.

**Daryl:** And for those of you who think those rumors of marriage are total BS, the last song on the album is called ‘Commitment’ and does talk about taking someone for who they are and who they’re not ‘to have and to hold until death do us part.’ So, keep that in mind.

**Mckinley:** Yeah this is not tinhat madness, and this album is not absent the same all-consuming love and adoration that was in _Away for the Weekend_ and _Growing Pains_. This is mature and adoring and sweet and complex. It’s dynamic and fascinating. We should all be blessed to have heard this album. Grammy winner, for sure.

 

**Honest Composition (@HonestComposition)**

Get ready and watch special guest performing and discussing his latest album @MaverickOfficial

 

**Maverick (@MaverickOfficial)**

You all won’t look down on me if I vomit before this interview right?

 

**Text message from Theodore**

**Theodore:** I’m freaking out

**Harry:** 10min. I’ll be there.

* * *

“Are you ready?” Harry whispered in Theodore’s ear.

The popstar startled where he stood in the wings of the soundstage, arms crossed over his waist and gnawing on his lower lip nervously. He turned and relaxed slightly, smiling and muscles losing some of its deeply entrenched tension. At the very least, Theodore looked the part of devil-may-care popstar today in a baggy cut-off hoodie over an olive green long-sleeved shirt, ripped black skinny jeans, and buckled-strapped leather hiking boots. Half his hair had been braided back, the rest flipped to the side in a messy mop that was artfully styled but nonetheless carefully maneuvered.

“No,” Theodore admitted looking queasy. He shook his head, eyes lingering on the show’s host who sipped a coffee and chatted with the producer, waving at him genially from across the room. With a grim smile, Theodore tipped up his chin and looked away hastily on the verge of hyperventilation.

“You have to be,” Harry said as gently as he could, accepting the pair of coffees Rory brought from Theodore’s empty dressing room. He handed over the plastic cup with a horrifyingly sugary s’mores frappuccino and took a swig of his own bitter black coffee.

“I’m ready,” Theodore feigned.

Harry nodded, trying to hide his amusement. “There we go. Fake it ‘till you make it.”

“Why couldn’t I bring Attila again?”

“You get nervous so he gets snarly. And the producer, Aqua, is allergic to dogs,” Harry reported cheerfully.

The show’s host, Lionel Schneider, buttoned his suit jacket and walked over.

With a wide smile, Lionel rested his hand on both of their arms, eyes landing on Theodore. “You ready?”

“Now?”

Lionel looked at his watch, then over at his producer, Aqua. He nodded as he turned back towards Theodore and Harry. “Now,” he agreed before walking to stand on the edge of the stage.

“Tell me there’s no reason to be nervous.”

Harry shrugged his shoulders and didn’t even bother lying. Truth or lie, he wasn’t actually sure what would be more painful to Theodore. Cutting right to the heart of his fears would be the best course of action in his uncertainty. “I know this was a struggle for you personally and emotionally, but cocaine is white hat for Hollywood. People will be surprised, but you got it together, cleaned yourself up, and didn’t drag everyone down with you. As long as you don’t Lindsay Lohan your way out of this problem, no one will hate you.”

“And the gay thing?” Theodore asked with a teasing grin.

“When you’re ready to come out just say the word.”

Theodore scoffed and shook his head, scowling slightly. “Too much change, and the last thing I need is to be told that I’m not living up to my fullest potential as a gay role model. I don’t want to be that involved, you know?”

“And you want to be able to travel without impunity,” Harry stated tonelessly.

“That too,” Theodore confessed.

Coming out hadn’t yet been discussed with Theodore’s manager who kept doggedly pursuing the issue. But Harry had a fairly good idea what Theodore wanted—and what he didn’t. Theodore wasn’t Cris Emerson or Charlie Beck, he lived his life in shades of gray and wore the lies he crafted like armor. Theodore didn’t need the validation of having their relationship out in the open for the world to view, and Harry needed Theodore to keep his dick in his pants not proclaim his love from the hilltops.

They got along just fine.

Aqua came over and smiled brightly at Harry. They’d met during one of Breaking Fourth’s appearances and had formed a solid working relationship built on mutual respect and admiration. The one-night stand they’d drunkenly engaged in their first time meeting had been a fluke not to be repeated. Her skin was a deep cocoa, hair a fiery red, and brown eyes hidden behind aquiline contact lenses. She tugged on the bottom of her sleek mini-shift dress and turned her attention to Theodore.

“You ready? You’re about to be on.”

“I’m ready.”

Aqua nodded with a reassuring nod towards Harry, guiding him towards the stage.

“He can’t go out with a Starbucks cup,” a production assistant interrupted. When three pairs of eyes turned towards her. She cleared her throat awkwardly and asserted, “Licensing issue.”

Theodore tightened his grip on the cup.

Harry rolled his eyes and plucked a mug from the table. Rory snagged the Starbucks cup from his hand and passed it to Harry as she popped off the top. Empty the contents into the mug, Harry passed it back to Theodore who smiled gratefully and nodded.

“Okay,” Aqua drawled, “ _now_ are we ready?”

The production assistant nodded meekly, and Aqua smiled warmly at her.

“Okay.” She looked out Lionel and nodded.

“And now let’s give a warm welcome to today’s guest…” his voice was drowned out by the delighted screams from the crowd. Theodore looked over at him, tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth with amusement while Harry rolled his eyes. Fangirls. “He needs no introduction and his music needs no translation, Maverick.” Lionel said, rising to his feet and clapping along with the crowd.

Theodore walked onto the sound stage as Harry moved forward to stand beside Aqua in the wings and watch.

With a jaunty wave and a cheeky smile, Theodore greeted his fans before shaking Lionel’s hand and sitting down in the seat opposite him. He crossed his ankles and took a sip from the mug with a self-satisfied smile, setting the mug down on the side table with a boyish grin.

“Maverick it’s wonderful to see you again. When’s the last time we sat down for an interview?” Lionel teased.

Maverick admitted timidly, “I was sixteen and released the album with Disney’s label… _White Flag Down_.”

“Very long,” Lionel laughed while Maverick nodded in agreement.

He paused and grimaced, “Oh my God, eight years? I feel so old now,” he said, cupping his flaming cheeks and pursing his lips with an uneasy smile.

“That’s both of us. I’m forty-one now!”

Maverick shook his head and held up a hand. “Neanderthal…what were the dinosaurs like? And is that movie _Alpha_ based in any kind of truth.”

“Always thinking you’re a comedian,” Lionel huffed while Maverick laughed and shrugged with a winning smile. “Still drinking tea instead of coffee?” He asked with a gesture towards Maverick’s mug.

Maverick looked down at it absently. “Coffee’s so gross. It’s bitter and tasteless. Tastelessly bitter. There’s no accounting for class. Anyway, this is a frappuccino with all the sugar and syrups to make things taste less like someone lit my tongue on fire with awfulness.”

“Frappuccino…” Lionel drawled disbelievingly. “Is that like the morning version of a fru-fru cocktail.”

“I don’t know. I don’t drink.” The silence in the room was deafening, and Maverick held his hands up. “Anymore, okay? Anymore.”

“Well,” Lionel hedged cautiously, eyes darting over to where Harry stood beside Aqua, asking if it was really okay to pry. In most of Maverick’s post-album release interviews, Maverick had been cagey about the subjects in his album. Not out of any particular hesitance to discuss, but because Harry had wanted the right interviewer to ask the questions.

Lionel’s show _Honest Composition_ wasn’t interested in gossip. That wasn’t to say questions about Maverick’s love life wouldn’t ever be addressed in the interview, but Lionel’s main concern had always been about the music. Dealing with Maverick and the baggage that came with him wouldn’t change things. Even _Oprah_ would made this story cannon fodder, and Harry needed someone he could trust. He trusted Aqua and he trusted Lionel, and the agreement had been that they’d break the story.

Harry nodded.

“Your last brush with alcohol became national news,” Lionel said in an instant, turning towards Maverick.

For just a moment, the hint of vulnerability that made differentiated Maverick from Theodore bled through, revealing the man beneath the veneer. His eyes met Harry, and he raised his chin, locking away Theodore and keeping the veneer of Maverick firmly in place.

“Yes and no,” Theodore said slowly. “Alcohol was what made the news, but I don’t think I’ve ever blacked out from alcohol only in all my life. I’m very good with spirits.”

Lionel regarded Maverick carefully for a moment. “There’s been hints for quite some time in your music that you…were addicted to some kind of narcotic. This album in particular addresses your struggle and sobriety and detox. Am I correct?”

Maverick smiled and took a sip of his frappuccino to hide his nerves. “It’s cocaine. _Was_ cocaine. It’s weird to talk about it because I never imagined that I’d be up here discussing that part of my life.”

“What did you imagine?” Lionel inquired curiously.

“That I’d be dead, quite honestly,” Maverick said, frowning even as he shrugged dismissively. “I’ve been doing cocaine for most of my life by now. I was fourteen when I started.”

“Wow.”

Maverick nodded his head. “I mean I can function, and I think touring is the only reason I’m even alive. There just wasn’t a driving need during tours. I got that high naturally.”

“But you did get clean,” Lionel interrupted inquisitively. “Was that something you did yourself?”

“God no,” Maverick laughed, shaking his head. “Everyone’s been imagining I spent my holiday either sprawled out on some beach in the Caribbean or in couples therapy with my girlfriend. I mean couples therapy would have been a solid idea, but we could have handled our emotional issues while I was working. We’re both capable of that, but I couldn’t handle getting clean by myself.”

“You were in rehab during your hiatus.”

“I literally left rehab the same week I came back and started recording. I wrote a lot of the songs there. Rehab was an interesting, very _real_ experience for me.”

Lionel nodded slowly, gazing thoughtfully at Maverick, chin resting on his upturned fist. “You have a song on your album, ‘Responsibility’, which discusses taking responsibility of your actions and seems to shade Ember Caraleigh for accusing you of being her child’s father but otherwise you don’t really discuss that particular issue. Was that a conscious choice?”

“Yeah…” Maverick hedged thoughtfully, genuinely seeming not to know. After a moment, he shook his head and forged ahead looking more certain of his answer. “I was never very upset about the Ember situation. It was the wake up call I needed. I thought I could handle my addiction, that I didn’t have to change, but I did. It was a catalyst for my getting clean because there’s nothing like having your girlfriend call and demand to know if something true and being unable to say one way or the other. Without Konstantin, I never would have known.”

“Yeah?” Lionel asked archly. “Your fans are calling this Paternity-Gate. Your firing your publicist after the assurance you weren’t going to seek a paternity test…”

“No comment,” Maverick sing-songed with a bright smile.

“This album just resonated with a lot of people.”

Maverick nodded looking more serious. “I know. And I didn’t expect it, but it also doesn’t surprise. I mean this isn’t like raw sexual desire or passion or crushes or like the—I hesitate to say—stereotypical Hollywood ‘struggle with the spotlight’, you know? This was pain. Real, raw emotional and physical pain. The biggest part of getting sober was taking a good hard look at myself and my choices. Taking responsibility for the position I was in. My pain, my fight, my loss, everything was my fault, and that’s a hard place to be. But once you hit rock bottom there’s no way to go but up, and I mean rock bottom for me was still pretty cushy.”

“Did you girlfriend help you stay afloat?” Lionel asked, “Because you have quite a few mentions of her throughout the album and the pain you caused her, almost losing her, pull through…”

“Yeah,” Maverick nodded in agreement. “I wouldn’t be here—wouldn’t be sober—without her. Even when things were at their lowest, and I know she didn’t want to look at me, she didn’t just leave me to deal with the consequences of my actions alone.”

“Is that when you knew you wanted to marry her?” Lionel inserted slyly. Harry raised his eyebrows but wasn’t totally unsurprised. A large subsect of Maverick’s fanbase believed (rightly) that he’d run off and gotten married. Largely due to… “You wrote a song, pretty much everyone’s favorite off the album, my wife included, called ‘Commitment’.”

Maverick blushed and nodded. “Yeah when I gave the album to my girlfriend I deliberately didn’t put that song on the copy I sent. Santi, my producer, one-upped me and sent a copy as soon as we’d finished. She’d had the copy for days and hadn’t said anything.”

“Does she like it?” Lionel demanded to know like a happily little girl. “Because everyone else does. I mean this is just a very touching declaration about love, about standing together, about forsaking all others, and lifting each other up. I mean it’s about Ed Sheeran levels of ‘Perfect’. It’s going to be a single, right?”

Maverick flushed and opened his mouth to speak when Harry waved, drawing his attention and slashed his hand across his throat. Laughing slightly, Maverick nodded his head and turned to Maverick. “My publicist is back there telling me to shut the fuck up. He’s right, my label would flip tables if I dropped what the next single was going to be right now. I don’t care, but I would when they started blowing up Harry’s phone, and he started blowing up mine. Let me not.” Maverick held up his hands in a gesture of innocence.

“But she _does_ like it?” Lionel pressed.

“If she didn’t I wouldn’t hear the end of it, but instead she just kind of doesn’t go into detail and lets me be the judge of my music. I’m the worst critic anyway.”

The crowd cheered while Maverick smiled impishly and shrugged.

Lionel laughed before sobering abruptly. “The one thing that you really don’t talk about with any sort of regularity is your family. You’ve never really written about your adoptive family, but you did write a little about some of the abuse you experience in the foster care system and feeling used by your foster family, but you were hit with a lot of surprises this year. You found out Dido Lynn Darby was your biological mother after years of boldly and honestly admiring her talents. And you met siblings you didn’t know you had.”

“It did really pack an emotional punch for sure,” Maverick agreed with a laugh. “Actually, my b…girlfriend,” he corrected quickly, shooting quick glance to Harry who shrugged, unsurprised and unconcerned. Slip-ups were expected and people would explain it away to avoid having to admit that their favorite celebrity might be gay. “Found out for me. I’ve never been able to get access to those records and she found out. We didn’t all start out on the best foot. They resented me—my biological parents—and I resented them. But I love Tali and Clint and Crys and Apollo so we’ve all had to learn how to move passed our personal issues and get along.”

“Do you think you succeeded?”

“It’s a process and we’re working on it, but that hurt doesn’t go away in a day.” Maverick confessed, shrugging. “I think therapy—at the rehab facility—helped, spending time together helps, and _certainly_ going into studio with Dido Lynn’s helped. Both of us communicate more genuinely through our music, without all the extraneous pretense. I can’t pretend like writing together, singing together, haven’t fortified our understanding of each other.”

“That song’s not on the album!” Lionel exclaimed.

Maverick laughed and nodded in agreement. “It’s on hers.”

“You said when you released _Growing Pains_ that you couldn’t make another studio album until the one inside you was ready to be released. Is _this_ that album?”

“It is and it isn’t.” Maverick admitted with a half-hearted smile. He shrugged absently and ran a shaking hand through his hair. “I’ve always known that writing about my addictions and my struggles needed to be shared, but there were elements to this album that I didn’t expect. Having to take into account the way I hurt the person I love most in the world, that was a big surprise,” Maverick said with a wide, uncertain smile while everyone laughed in agreement. Even Harry allowed himself the tiniest burble of laughter to escape. “Nothing goes exactly the way you picture it and this album didn’t either. In the very best way.”

Lionel nodded while his audience clapped and cheered. “Now before you perform for us: any ideas on your next project?”

Maverick stifled a grin and shrugged with a cautious smile. “I’m off on tour again in May, but while I’m in London I do have plans. I have a recording studio in my house so I’ve been talking to a number of people, and it looks like I’ll be producing…and singing on…and writing for…a collaborative album.”

“A collaborative album? Any ideas with who?”

“I mean…I have a lot of friends. Elena and Alina want to collaborate. Cris Emerson. Benji Irving wants to produce. Soren Reid. Dido Lynn. Chesapeake, actually.” Maverick said with a shrug.

“Chesapeake?” Lionel asked in surprise.

“I know, but I think it’s going to be a lot of fun…so does she apparently. Ike, America, some DJs, Kimberly Lakshmi. I mean there’s a lot of people who are going to be collaborating. A lot of people who are going to be producing. It’s a really egalitarian, really collaborative—for lack of a better term—effort between people. I’m excited.”

“And this project can continue without you? When you’re on tour?”

“Of course,” Maverick agreed cheerfully. “Santiago’s spearheading with Kya Tern, this girl from Manchester that he’s mentoring. I’m excited to see what everyone comes up with.”

“Any ideas who you’ll collaborate with?”

“Some,” Maverick said with an enigmatic smile.

When Lionel led them out for commercial break, the production team burst into a flurry of motion, moving the set around to provide a performance space, and Harry went out to meet Theodore as he stood and walked towards the wings.

“How’d I do?”

Harry fisted his hands to keep from touching him too tenderly, from giving too much away in front of people. Slowly, Harry nodded, holding his eyes while Theodore smiled somewhat shyly. “Yeah, babe, you did great. But you know that.”

 


	47. "Dear Lover" by Little Mix

**Thalia Booker (@BookOfTali)**

Petition to make #Commitment the next single #maveratics #stressfractures

 

**Irish Rose (@rosieposie)**

@BookOfTali but you know him. Why are you like this????

 

**Crystal Adelaide (@clearascrystal)**

@rosieposie @BookOfTali I second this motion!

 

**YouTube Channel, Real Talk Daily: Maverick Back on the Big Screen**

**Mckinley:** So aside from continuing to fangirl over Maverick’s album, _Stress Fractures_ , we have more exciting news about everyone’s favorite popstar.

 **Daryl:** No, we still don’t know who his girlfriend is. Yes, they’re still together. No, there’s no confirmation they’re married yet.

 **Mckinley:** Spoilsport. Anyway, while Maverick flew back to London last week they announced nominations for the Academy Awards. He and his film, _The Woman Who Would Be King,_ have been nominated in several categories so his people did confirm he’d be flying back for that. Also while in London he’ll be working on an animated film composing a musical score and voicing one of the main characters for movie, _The Varjak Paw_ , which is a based on a book about cats.

 **Daryl:** I’m actually really excited. Animated films are a new one, and with his musical compositions, this could really be a fun one.

 **Mckinley:** He kickstarts his tour in May, so keep an eye on that, but I’m more giddy over his photoshoot with Vogue. He’s hella nice looking.

 **Daryl:** Just wait for the one with NME

 

**Text message to Marley**

**Theodore:** You want to go to the Academy Awards.

 **Marley:** Awhiwsfnifdgjijlszdfjlkfgnhdxzkjn

 **Marley:** T.T T.T T.T O.o :P

 **Marley:** Holyfuckingshit

 **Marley:** Yes, I would.

 **Theodore:** …got it boo

 

**Text message from Elena**

**Elena:** I want to come see you.

 **Elena:** I’m still not feeling the greatest.

 **Theodore:** Come see me.

 **Theodore:** Pick up Alina and we’ll all just veg

 

**Teddy Langston (@TM_1996)**

Marriage be like finding out your hubby ruined ur bff and not being able to kill him.

 

**Dakota Crosby (@K9_Crosby)**

@TM_1996 isn’t that called life?

 

**Teddy Langston (@TM_1996)**

@K9_Crosby yes

 

**Nika (@victory4nika)**

But, ok, let’s talk about who @MaverickOfficial has as his publicist Crisial Stans know him…

 

**Day 1 Crisial (@stacethestan)**

@victory4nika yes we do. Come chat #maveratics #crisial

* * *

In comparison to the mess of Cris and Irial, the pandemonium of Bailey and Salem, working with Charlie and Patrick was a dream. A fairly typical coming out of two well-liked, famous, and generally clean-nosed celebrities raising a baby together was nothing at all in comparison to most of his clients in general. Harry had reality stars with alcoholism and arrest records, celebrities with baby mama drama and accusations of wife-beating, singers with allegations of plagiarism and diva-worthy fits, actors cheating on their wives, business people accused of prostitution and groping, models with their usual brand of drama.

Charlie and Patrick were easy.

Or would have been if it wasn’t for Elena.

Harry’s history in business was of ruthlessness and doing anything in order to achieve the results his clients had demanded of him. And of all the things Harry excelled in, winning was among the top. Because he dismissed feelings, morality, and other pesky societal compunctions in order to be the best. Except when it came to Theodore.

What Harry hadn’t taken into account was Theodore’s friendship with Elena Valence, which—while notable—wasn’t something Harry was faced with every day. He never would have thrown Alina under the bus to help Charlie Beck, ditto Marley because they were a constant presence in his life, in Theodore’s. Whether in person or not, Harry had come home more than once to find Alina (or Ali) chilling on the sofa in cut-off shorts with a bowl of popcorn and greasy hair. Marley had been an increasingly frequent sight since the first time Harry had startled upon finding her in their kitchen in only a towel and dancing to Christmas carols in the kitchen while baking cookies at one in the morning.

Elena Valence had apparently maintained a close friendship and intense working relationship with Theodore since they’d met at the BET Awards a little over three years ago and collaborated on a song for her album. Sully had assisted in most of the contract work regarding sales and royalties of the songs Theodore wrote, composed, and sold to other artists. The file of long-distance collaborations that had been written by him and Elena, then sold to other singers was unfortunately long and thick.

Harry knew they spoke. He didn’t know they spoke almost daily or that Elena considered Theodore one of her closest friends.

That had been an oversight until he’d received a terse text message from Theodore saying Elena would be coming to the house and staying over until further notice…and that Theodore expected an apology to be forthcoming.

Toghon perched on his shoulder like a fluffy and oversized parrot and the rapidly growing puppy tucked beneath his arm, Harry opened the door to the main house and stalled. It was long enough for Toghon to jump onto the cat tree beside the window and yowl for his sister while Wu Zetian wriggled and whined for Attila, nowhere to be found. Long enough for Harry to realize that the house was too quiet.

“Teddy?” Harry called out, sighing when his only response was silence.

Tossing his bag onto the side table and hanging his jacket on the coat rack, Harry kept the puppy under his arm and stalked into the kitchen. He snagged a bottle of water from the fridge, cracking it open and skimming through his emails as he padded back down the hallway to the front door. Toghon peered at him with a soft mewl, and Harry tilted his head in a wordless offer as he opened the front door and trotted down the stairs Theodore’s recording studio and music room with Wu Zetian beneath his arm and the cat trailing behind.

The doorknob turned easily beneath his palm, and Harry tilted back his head releasing a long sigh. He’d warned Theodore again and again that the amount of state-of-the-art Daiki Company tech locked away in their basement was enough to encourage corporate espionage let alone basic grand theft. Theodore had _guitars_ worth prison time hung on the walls of the basement like useable art. The last thing they needed was to get robbed while Theodore was working in studio. He’d be more concerned with saving his music that sustaining his life and welfare.

Toghon raced into the room and leapt onto the cat tree they’d set up in the corner nearest the piano where Qi reclined almost regally, grooming herself like her brother hadn’t been missing in action for hours.

Locking the door behind him, Harry set Wu Zetian on the floor, and she barked excitedly and sprinted across the room to scratch excitedly at the barn, widening the crack enough to slip through and find Attila.

The door was opened wider to reveal Ali—who Harry had been seeing more and more of rather than his feminine alter ego—reclining against the door with a bemused smile on his face. He looked entirely too comfortable in a pair of oversized joggers that dragged on the ground, barefoot, and in a black tank top, long hair plaited back into two French braids. He raised his eyebrows and clucked his tongue.

“Well, well, well…” Ali drawled.

Harry shook his head and held up a hand, “Don’t start.” He paused in walking forward to eye Ali with suspicion. His dusky skin appeared darker than usual, sun-kissed and hinting at golden hues. The usually impeccably styled nails were blunted and unpolished by even the clear-coat gloss he wore in his male guise, a line of dark dirt beneath the short tips. Like Ali had spent excessive hours to work that didn’t involve looking superb, spending hours in a recording studio, or impressing important people.

He raised his own eyebrows.

“Are you _tanned_?”

Ali stiffened and raised his chin. “I have family in America.”

“In _Annapolis_ , which is not warm and sunny this time of the year. It’s Maryland, not Florida.”

“Are you prying?”

“Are you dodging my question?”

Ali’s expression turned mulish and flinty, pointing into the space behind him. “You’re in big trouble, sir. Don’t try to turn this around on _me_.”

Harry raised his hands in an empty gesture of innocence. “Sure thing, Ali. I’ll take a number and revisit this another day. Preferably before your secret lover and the excursions you two indulge in become tabloid fodder that you’re begging me to clean up. Honestly, the Bailey thing was once-in-a-lifetime meaning it was fun, interesting to negotiate, but I never want to do it again. Hear me?”

Ali’s eyes narrowed. “I need a water.”

“So get one,” Harry said dismissively stalking into the room.

It looked largely the same as it had when he’d shown it to Theodore last December save for a few more awards the new memorabilia from his album going platinum. Attila was curled on the dog bed Theodore had brought into the room for him to feel involved—while Wu Zetian tucked in beside him—while the second cat tree had been replaced by sleek floating shelves that created, what Bailey and Salem liked to call, the ‘cat super highway’ in honor of their binge-watching eight seasons of _My Cat From Hell_ in accordance with their reality television show obsession. That, at least, had been more informative than _Catfish_.

Most days Harry walked into the studio to find it filled with half a dozen people from studio musicians to DJs to award-winning producers to musical geniuses that would make Harry’s mother faint from awe and jealousy.

He supposed Elena Valence fit into that category, but it was not a good sign that the only people in the studio were Ali, Elena, and Theodore. Santiago’s absence was an anomaly since he liked to hang out and talk music with Theodore even if he wasn’t actively involved in producing whatever song was being recorded that day.

The woman herself looked pale and diminutive in a sweatshirt whose fabric engulfed her frail frame, one of Theodore’s. Her hair was in its natural state of curls and pulled back in a loose bun, heavy bangs falling into her eyes. Her legs were crossed on the rolling chair she sat on, pulled fairly close to the mixing table, elbow on the armrest, cheek in her palm, and head bobbing lightly to the heart wrenching sound of Theodore’s singing pouring out of the speakers. Her boots rested on the floor in front of the chair, mismatched socks bouncing up and down rhythmically.

When Theodore’s eyes landed on him from inside the vocal booth, his expression hardened, voice dying off, and eyebrows rising.

Elena’s eyes opened. She frowned first at Theodore who tipped up his chin, causing her gaze to swing around towards Harry. When her eyes fell on him, Elena winced, cheeks coloring and looking away hastily.

Harry tilted back his head and sighed.

He ought to have seen this coming, but he hadn’t.

Theodore hung the headphones on the music stand and stomped to door of the vocal booth. He yanked it open and dashed outside, chest heaving as he stood in the doorway seething in anger.

“You’re home,” he intoned coolly.

Harry raised his eyebrows and leaned against the table unwilling to give into his guilt. Not when he felt like Theodore had already formed an opinion on what exactly had happened and wanted Harry to bow and acquiesce to Theodore’s censure. All opinions aside, Harry’s oversight had been grievous but no less accidental for the insult. Seeing Elena’s face and the trauma that had been willingly been inflicted upon her, Harry felt bad but not enough to be chastened for it.

“I am. Should I not be?” Harry challenged, cracking open the water bottle and taking a sip from the bottle.

The cats mewled as they raced each other into the room, Qi leaping up smoothly onto the table and hissing down at her brother. Toghon’s tail twitched, but he remained rooted as Qi sidled over to Harry and rubbed against his arm comfortingly.

“Did you honestly just ask me that?” Theodore demanded through clenched teeth, fury allowing his posh British accent to bleed through.

“Teddy,” Elena cautioned hoarsely.

Theodore held up a hand and dismissed her warning.

Tentatively, she offered Harry an uneasy smile of greeting. Harry nodded back at her but kept his attention focused firmly on Theodore whose meter of fury was rapidly approaching explosive. Clearly, Harry had either underestimated or completely missed just how attached Theodore and Elena were. Musically, she was close to Theodore’s musical soul mate, and her explosive breakup with Charlie combined with being crucified in the press regarding her controversial stance on one of the most popular celebrities and her empire built on sand and blood. She’d disappeared from the public eye, and Harry had a part to play in that.

But that was between he and Elena. Not Theodore. He was neither her boyfriend nor her father and had no authority to rebuke Harry on Elena’s behalf.

“Of everyone you could have manipulated for Charlie Beck, you used _Elena_?”

“You don’t know that he…” Elena started slowly.

“Oh, I do,” Theodore said tonelessly. “Writing a song with Cris Emerson. What did you have to promise him to make that happen?”

“Sully,” Harry answered tonelessly, shrugging as though this matter was beneath him. “For paperwork to allow he and Iri to adopt.”

“Like they need a kid,” Ali scoffed as he stalked into the room sans the water he’d left to collect but rather two sweating glasses of fizzing coke. One he handed to Elena while dropping to sit in the other chair and spinning gaze balefully at Harry. “Like they’re mature enough for a kid.”

“Charlie and Patrick have a kid,” Harry pointed out. Elena winced, and he grimaced, “Sorry.”

“I was an idiot,” Elena said dully, shaking her head.

“A little,” Ali agreed.

“ _This_ was not _your_ fault,” Theodore cut in sharply, eyes never moving from where they’d focused with laserlike intensity on Harry, the two of them in one the dangerous stand-offs Qi and Toghon engaged in from time to time. Stand-offs where both dogs were afraid a single peripheral movement would set the cats off. “ _This_ was on _Harry_. Wasn’t it?”

“It was an oversight.”

Elena’s eyebrows rose as she blinked profusely, but she didn’t look particularly surprised. Theodore was taking this more personally than Elena. Harry hadn’t been exaggerating when he’d once told Rosie that Elena was essentially Theodore in a female form. They both played the game well, knew the score and knew how to maneuver. The only difference was that at this moment Elena had moved past emotional responses and could think rationally. Her brash anger towards Charlie and Harry had cooled into something more like responsibility for the warning signs she’d missed.

Theodore, though, hadn’t had the same time to process and only saw the betrayal of Harry towards one of Theodore’s most beloved friends and partners. Harry understood, but that didn’t mean he would accept the situation.

“An oversight? Ruining my best friend was an oversight?”

“Hey! I thought _I_ was the best friend,” Ali cut in while Elena giggled.

“I’m not _ruined_ just a little delicate,” Elena added shaking her head. “Don’t put words into my mouth.”

Theodore seemed to hear neither of them.

“An oversight,” Harry repeated rigidly. “An accident. I forgot what she meant to you.”

“How do you forget something like that?”

“Maybe we should go,” Ali said, exchanging a glance with Elena.

“I’m staying here.” Elena confessed.

Ali grimaced and nodded, “Me too.”

Sighing, Harry turned his head to look at the pair of them. Both tensed and he smiled. “There are spare keys for the car in the garage. Go to a pub or to Camden. It’s fine. I completely understand wanting to run away from someone else’s lover’s spat.”

“Thank you,” Elena said softly over Ali’s vehement exclamation of: “God bless!”

Ali tugged Elena out the door while Harry returned his attention to Theodore.

“So I forgot? So I fucked her up. I’ll fix her, no big deal. This isn’t personal, it’s business.”

“Maybe it should be personal.”

Harry sighed and rubbed a hand over his forehead. “I’m trying here, Theodore. What do you want?”

“I want you to give a shit about me and my friends and…”

“And your needs?” Harry demanded with a voice as cold as the arctic winds. “All I ever do is consider your needs! I didn’t want to take your publicity, but I did it for you. I didn’t want to fly to Morocco to dig you out of your grave, but I did that! I didn’t want to spend days combing over hotel video footage, but I did that. For _you_. For _your needs_. How about you give me a little leeway here?”

“Like you give me to make mistakes?”

“You don’t make mistakes, Teddy! You make emotional demolition! You want to talk about ruin? How about when you possibly knocked someone up and couldn’t provide an answer? How about when you accused me of all that shit during rehab and never apologized? How about just expecting me to fit into your life without you ever having to make the same concessions for me that I extend to you. How about that?” Harry shouted at him before drawing back and inhaling shakily.

Theodore stared at him for a moment, stricken for a second before the emotion seemed to pass. “She’s my best friend. She’s so much like me that it’s alarming, and I don’t know how to comfort her and look at you right now.”

“Are you kicking me out?”

Theodore looked shame-faced.

Harry’s mouth fell open in a slightly shocked expression. This he hadn’t been expecting. This wasn’t the fight that would end them, so he wasn’t as worried as he ought to be, but he was a little peeved that he was being kicked out of his own house because Theodore didn’t know how to process an injustice that hadn’t even been done to him or regarding him in any way, shape, or form.

“Seriously?”

Theodore grimaced, “I’m sorry.”

“Understand,” Harry said as he started to turn away. “I’ll give you three days, and I’m coming home. You don’t get to kick me out because you feel guilty. Get over yourself. This is bullshit but I’ll let it go for now and let you come back to a state of rationality the real world, not Hollywood, finds acceptable.”

Before Theodore could argue, Harry was already gone nursing a heady cocktail of anger, outrage, and indignation. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm being super nice today because Anne Bishop's Lake Silence comes out today and I'm happy happy happy. Also because i promised a chapter on Sunday and spent the whole day sleeping off the red wine and gin from the night before. Not a hang over I'm just a lightweight and alcohol makes me sleepy.


	48. "Dancing with Our Hands Tied" by Taylor Swift

**Text message from Elena Valence**

**Elena Valence:** Did he really kick you out?

**Elena Valence:** Oh my God I’m so sorry.

**Harry:** We ll tlk eventually but don’t worry about it.

**Harry:** Not ur fault.

**Harry:** Sorry abt the Chaz thing.

**Elena Valence:** My brother said I should have seen it

**Elena Valence:** I mean he’s not wrong right?

**Harry:** …not rly

 

**Teddy Langston (@TM_1996)**

I think I might have been a little too rash…

 

**Dakota Crosby (@K9_Crosby)**

@TM_1996 you might be right #justsaying

 

**keepcalmandshipcrisial**

**Tumblr Post: Harry Benton-Sterling**

Maveratics, welcome to tinhatter land. The ‘Harry’ that Maverick referred to in his interview with Lionel Schneider was Harry Benton-Sterling. Our Harry Benton-Sterling. He’s Irial Dorian’s college friend who used to work for Dissident Management but now owns Sterling and Ireland PR firm with Rosie Ireland.

#maveratics #crisial #breakers

**crisial_updates**

Harry Benton-Sterling is Hollywood’s go-to for serious problems. He helped Dali with his baby mama drama, got Konstantin Petrov out of jail, saved Arthur Bailey from the press during his impromptu coming out, and has been working with Patrick Gallagher about…something. We suspect it’s that kid he’s been photographed with on set.

#maveratics #crisial #tinhatters

**songsmaveratic**

Harry’s his publicist…what’s your point?

#maveratics #crisial #tinhatters

**mavtellsstories**

I think that is there point. I looked him up. Harry Benton-Sterling is a PR fixer. He doesn’t do regular publicity for just anyone. The Daiki Company is a growing multinational corporation, and Breaking Fourth knows him personally. Whatever Maverick’s involved in there’s something there.

#maveratics #crisial #tinhatters

**redrumrosa**

He’s the guy spotted with Mav in Lyon, right? At the town hall? Right? Right?!

#maveratics #crisial #tinhatters

 

**Harry Benton-Sterling**

It’s been the longest time since I’ve gone clubbing but the Ministry of Sound is lit @rosieposie @MonsterSully @BrandonGreer @(Shannon Gallagher)

* * *

“Is he really at a club?” Theodore complained again where he lay half-sprawled over the table while his finger ran along the rim of his plate. He was pouting, he knew that. He’d pouted through the shared camembert appetizer and beef kabobs, through his meal of beer-battered cod and fries with aioli dip. With dessert on its way, Theodore’s pouting continued uninterrupted.

Alina sighed exasperatedly and looked down at him, flipping her hair off her shoulder. Tapping her nails on the table, Alina frowned at him and took a sip of her coke. “Yes, he’s still at a club since you asked five minutes ago. With Breaking Fourth and Rosie and Iri and Cheryl.”

Elena had rapidly lost sympathy for his self-pity. “You kicked him out.”

“To think about his actions not to go clubbing and fuck some random twenty year old asshole at a club!”

This time even Santiago rolled his eyes. “Do you really think _Harry_ would do that to you?”

“No,” Theodore answered, bottom lip still puckered in a pout. He slid to sit up and rested his chin on his upturned palm. Frowning, he straightened and licked his lips as his eyes fell on the plates of desserts heading their way. Sicilian cheesecakes, Belgian chocolate brownies, and Theodore’s own vanilla crème brûlée. “But it’s still a concern,” he admitted, smiling graciously as the waitress passed his dessert down the line of people.

It wasn’t unusual for Theodore to spend time in the company of half a dozen singers, songwriters, and producers. It also wasn’t typical to find them all going out to a nearby pub after they’d finished working on a song together. But then, this song had been somewhat of a masterpiece by their standards.

Santiago and Alina had co-produced the song while Theodore and Elena had taken up writing with a renowned songwriter from Detroit, Margot Bensimone. Santiago’s protégé and upcoming singer, Kya Tern, had handled part of the vocals with Theodore along with a rapper that Theodore had known since his days in foster care. K.Wit, was Jakoby Whittemore, who’d called Theodore to discuss this collaborative album and writing a song about the British foster system.

Of course he’d agreed.

The song would be controversial but also undoubtedly popular. A centerpiece and a masterpiece, and Theodore had flown up the stairs to the main house to have Harry listen…only to find him gone.

“Is he the boyfriend?” Wit asked with a charming grin.

Theodore sighed and rested his head back on the table.

Kya elbowed him in the side and huffed, “You’re upsetting him.”

“Okay, Theo,” Wit rolled his eyes.

“What is this Theo thing?” Alina demanded in disbelief, obviously trying to avoid the elephant in the room.

Wit looked over at her, smirking. “He didn’t tell you? Theo is what everyone called him years ago. And I can’t call him Teddy,” Wit said grimacing. Theodore’s gaze slid over towards him smoothly and cooled in a silent warning. Smiling evenly, Wit leaned back and stabbed his fork into his cheesecake with a cheery smile, unconcerned about Theodore’s increasing ire. “That’s just such a sweet name. Hardly a fit for your personality.”

“Stop talking,” Theodore stated, deadpan.

Elena gazed between the pair of them while Margot whistled and shrunk into Santiago.

Wit had seen Theodore at his worst. He’d agreed not to drink alcohol in front of him like the rest of the group despite Theodore’s insistence that the offer wasn’t necessary, but his memory of Harry went back far and didn’t extend its courtesy to the way he’d improved his life. Foster care had been a rough experience for both of them, and they both had pasts that they greatly regretted, but Wit hadn’t been able to shed his the same way Theodore had. The resentment was evident.

“Don’t be an ass,” Kya hissed beneath her breath.

Wit tensed, then relaxed and nodded, “Sorry.”

Slowly, Theodore shook his head.

God, he needed a drink.

Alina saw the look that passed over his face and straightened, hand already reaching out to touch the screen of her cell phone with evident anxiety. She, too, had seen him during his bad days. Not the same way Wit had when he’d stolen food from off-licenses in order to thwart starvation, gotten into fights with kids in alleys who’d taunted him over his foster child status, and slept in train stations while pick-pocketing tourists for petty cash to grab popcorn chicken from KFC.

“Don’t,” Alina informed him slowly. Her eyes roved pointedly over to where a group of uni students sat around a table eating burgers were whispering over the table while sneaking photos of them. Theodore pursed his lips and shook his head with a long-suffering sigh. “Just don’t.”

Theodore wanted to go home.

Generally, he didn’t mind the press hounding him, though that was mostly in central London and Los Angeles, or fans trying to take sneaky pictures of him that he almost always caught. Theodore had known what he’d be getting himself into, knew that he couldn’t expect to become a household name without a little sacrifice to his personal privacy. It hadn’t mattered when he was high or screwing a bunch of girls he had no interest in. Now though he was sober and itching for a drink or a hit or Harry. The first two he couldn’t have and the latter he’d sent away in a bout of protective rage.

Elena, though, was over it. Maybe not over Charlie’s participation, but she understood where Harry had come from, which was not of a place to hurting her. Not taking her feelings into account wasn’t the same as discounting them entirely. It had been emotionally scarring but not so wholly traumatic that Elena couldn’t see Harry’s side of things. She herself hadn’t thought Harry’s actions were so unreasonable that she couldn’t forgive him, that Theodore had been irrational for kicking him out over it.

Theodore just didn’t know himself but he wanted Harry here.

Wanted to have him listen to the song they’d finished.

Wanted to talk to him about his tour manager already stressing him out.

Wanted to feel the cravings dissipate beneath Harry’s touch as much as they could.           None of those things would be options until Theodore bucked up and went crawling back to Harry with his tail between his legs. He wasn’t certain he felt ready to do that yet. He was still mad but could admit that kicking Harry out of the house hadn’t been the right call.

“Should I order…”

Elena, Santiago, and Alina all tensed and turned to him stiffly.

Theodore clenched his jaw at the blatant distrust in them. Since he’d left the rehab center, Theodore had fallen off the wagon only a couple times and never with cocaine. Though, that had been mostly due to Harry having a friend from the police department help Attila scour the house for Theodore’s drug cachets before he’d even returned from France. The last instance with alcohol had left Harry dumping Theodore’s thousand pound collection of vintage wines down the kitchen sink to keep him from binging on them again.

Their house had been dry as the Sahara ever since. No beer. No wine. Certainly no champagne. And Rory had obviously been ordered by Harry to keep his indulgences to the barest minimum even when they were separated. His partying habits in Los Angeles had been closely monitored. The first time he’d passed Rory with a glass of champagne she’d taken it from his hand without a word. The second time had been at a party where alcohol was flowing, and Rory had taken that too without waiting until he’d been away from the crowd of partygoers. Such was Hollywood that no one had even bothered to ask any questions about that.

“Coffee,” Theodore muttered beneath his breath. “Should I go order coffees?”

Alina and Elena exchanged quick glances across the table.

“That’d be great,” Santiago cut in before they could try and keep him from leaving. His head turned towards Margot who paused in shoveling the bread pudding into her mouth and raised her eyebrows.

“Oh,” Margot said when she stuttered, “yeah. Just a round of tea and coffee for the table? Tea for the Brits I assume.”

Wit laughed and nodded his head. “I did develop a taste for coffee when I went on tour with Dali, I’ll admit. But it’s nothing like a good tea. Coffee’s a good pick-me-up, but honestly who drinks it simply for the taste?”

“Weak sauce,” Alina recovered quickly, smacking her palm down on the table lightly. “Tea’s good for a sore throat or to put you to bed, something warm on a crisp, cold day. But let’s be real here: coffee’s the only way to go. Right, El?”

Elena’s eyebrows rose, a cheeky smile slowly beginning to curl her lips. “Actually, I prefer tea.”

“Ooh,” Kya teased, “On American down.”

“A British convert,” Wit agreed with a teasing smile.

“I’m not British or American,” Santiago added pointedly, raising his hand. “I’ll take a coffee.”

Theodore hurried up out of his seat as he nodded over the playful bickering that was almost entirely for his benefit to avoid the awkwardness of Alina’s reluctance to let him go to the bar. Keeping his head down to avoid the now dozens of young patrons in the bar whispering and trying to point at him discreetly. Leaning against the bar, Theodore placed the order of four coffees and four teas leaving an option for someone to enjoy both and tried to roll his shoulders and force tension to drain from them.

It worked not at all.

Smiling slightly when the bartender told him he could take a seat and a waitress would bring the order to the table, Theodore leaned against a column of the bar and tipped his head back. He pulled his mobile phone out of his pocket and dialed the familiar number without looking at the keys on screen. Bringing the device to his ear, he breathed carefully as he listened to it ring.

* * *

It had been a while since Harry had gone to a club and even longer since he’d had a sip of alcohol since committing to sobriety alongside his boyfriend. His efforts hadn’t been in vain, but since he’d spent the last couple days living in Benji and Rosie’s terraced house in Kensington with Rosie’s three cats, Benji’s pair of snakes, and the quartet of rabbits relegated to roam one of the empty guest bedrooms along with Wu Zetian whom he couldn’t leave on her own. Knowing Cris and Irial—and Beverly Dixon—for all their quirks had at least enabled him to bring the puppy into the restaurant where she’d curled up to sleep beside him on the outdoor bench seat.

Rosie cuddled against Benji apparently content with the privacy afforded to them in the VIP section of the club.

Micah reappeared, breathless and red-faced, from where he’d been out dancing with Cherrie and left her to shimmy with Shannon Gallagher and Brandon Greer. He handed Harry a refilled glass of rum and coke while he collapsed into the seat beside him sipping an ice cold beer straight from the bottle.

“Are you running away from Cherrie or something else?” Harry inquired lazily.

“Says the man hiding from his boyfriend in my house,” Rosie pointed out.

“And stealing _my_ girlfriend,” Benji added without any real heat or accusation to his words. “Can you two not be so codependent? I’m secure enough to trust both of you, but finding you two barely dressed and cuddled in bed together is a little disturbing.”

“Why?” Rosie asked innocently, blinking up at him like she had no idea why this would be problematic, but Rosie wasn’t stupid nor was she oblivious. Even when they’d been doing their dance trying to figure out if they wanted to try a real relationship again, they hadn’t been oblivious to the weirdness surrounding their behavior.

Micah glanced between the two of them and scoffed, laughing. “Cris and Irial have disappeared into the bathroom—”

“To screw,” Sully added helpfully over his glass of vodka and redbull.

Nodding sagely in agreement, Micah continued, “And Dominic is fighting with Bev. Again.”

Benji groaned, “Again?”

“Again,” Micah agreed rolling his eyes while Rosie laughed a little. “How many times are they going to do this dance? I’m not good with this level of Selena-Justin toxicity. They have to make up their minds.”

“ _Dominic_ has to make up his mind,” Rosie clarified.

“ _Dominic_ is too young for Bev,” Benji replied without looking at her, shrugging one shoulder.

“He’s not ready to settle down. How long is that excuse going to be good for? He’s in his late twenties. We’re passed this whole ‘she’s too old for him’ nonsense.” Rosie argued, scoffing and rolling her eyes. “He’s a big boy who just isn’t ready to stop getting his dick wet with every girl that bats their eyelashes at him. Straight up.”

Benji tilted his head and looked over at her. “Is this more of your men-suck feminism coming out to play?”

“Are you like that?”

“No,” Benji spat with bitterness.

Rosie wasn’t impressed, shrugging lazily, “Then no, it’s not. This is about Dominic. We all know Dominic. It’s not about Bev. It’s about _Dominic_.”

“Yes, it is,” Sully agreed brightly.

Micah and Benji, sticking up for their friend, shot him poisonous looks.

Harry took a sip of his drink and tipped his head back to gaze across the distance towards the shadowy corner of the bar where Bev and Dominic were arguing. There were wild gesticulations and terse words exchanged between them, tension and anger apparent in the tightness of their facial expressions. It seemed like nothing more than their usual argument at first until Bev started to walk away and Dominic grabbed her arm. Not tight enough to be threatening or leave bruises, but Bev yanked her arm away, hand coming to press against her stomach in an instinctual gesture of protection.

Dominic flinched, and Bev shook her head and stalked away.

“Bev’s pregnant,” Harry informed everyone.

The ‘whats’ were drowned out by Micah asking, “Are we sure it’s Dominic’s?”

They all turned to him as Harry’s mobile started ringing. He glanced at the screen, eyebrows raising. He rose to his feet and lightly slapped Micah’s shoulder. “Maybe you should pretend I didn’t tell you anything,” Harry said as he turned on the phone. “Teddy?”

There was a jagged inhale of breath before Theodore said shakily, “Harry?”

“What’s wrong?” He inquired urgently.

“I need you.”

Harry met Rosie’s eyes and gestured sharply towards the door, scooping up Wu Zetian and waving goodbye to them as Micah and Benji leaned across the table to gossip, and Rosie and Sully started jotting down plans on a paper napkin.

“Again?” Harry asked as he darted out of the club to flag down one of the black cabs driving down the street.

“I didn’t…” Theodore admitted. “I’m just…does everyone have no faith in me? Do you?”

Harry was silent for a moment as he slipped into the car. “Where are you?” When Theodore offered the name of the Freemason’s Arm in Hampstead, Harry relayed it to the cabbie and considered the question with the seriousness that it deserved. “I don’t know,” Harry confessed after a moment. “I don’t think about it. Not because it’s not a possibility, but…I live my life cleaning up other people’s disasters. Yours aren’t par for the course, but they’re also not unsurprising. Sobriety isn’t easy, and you’ve been using almost half of your life. I don’t expect miracles. I don’t expect for you not to fall off the wagon. I don’t expect that this will be it and we move forward from this point unmarred. And if you expect that of yourself then you’ve got your head up your ass.”

Theodore released a long, broken laugh. “I’m sorry I kicked you out.”

“It’s fine.”

“Don’t lie.”

“You’re an asshole,” Harry stated coldly, not even remotely capable of maintaining control of his ire. “It had nothing to do with you? Is this how it’s always going to be? With you kicking me out every time you feel wronged whether it has anything to do with you or not?”

Theodore fell silent, then offered, “I don’t have a lot of people I trust. It feels like a personal betrayal that you used her to further your own interests.”

“It wasn’t a slight against you.”

“It feels like it was. It feels like you didn’t take my feelings into consideration at all,” Theodore admitted.

Harry hesitated for a moment wondering how much truth would be too much for Theodore considering how on the edge he already was. With a choppy sigh, Harry said, “I didn’t. I forgot.”

“About me?” Theodore asked in a soft voice, the hurt and pain evident in the tone.

Yes, was the answer. Harry had forgotten how much Elena’s friendship meant to Theodore. He’d forgotten to pay attention to the ties that bound Theodore to people outside the immediate circle Harry dealt with everyday, and truthfully, if he remembered, he doubted he would have cared. Elena Valence had been perfect for what Harry had utilized her to do. And in business, Harry’s personal ties took a backseat to his business ones. He hadn’t bothered to factor Theodore into the decision.

“You don’t want to right?” Theodore inquired in words near a whisper. “You wanted me to be separate from your business. You wanted _us_ to be separate from your business because all of your friends are either your clients or your employees. Even your father hired you to help with the pub’s PR, right? You wanted one thing that’s just…not.”

Harry didn’t know what to say to that naked, startling truth. He hadn’t thought about it, hadn’t considered _why_ he’d been reluctant to take Theodore on as a client. Except that Theodore had invaded every facet of his life. There was no moment where his personal life wasn’t intertwined with his professional one, so maybe, yes, a degree of separation was what he wanted.

“But I pushed because you can’t do it,” Theodore confessed coolly. “You want me to be separate from that part of your life, but you’re not capable of it. You got pissy every time someone sent you an email about my PR or my tours or my album promotions, but you always gave an opinion, always answered them, always took control when someone did something you didn’t like. You’re incapable of separating your business and personal lives so I need you to stop pretending like _your_ work doesn’t affect _my_ personal life. Because my personal life _is_ your work.”

Harry sighed, rolling down the window as the black cab pulled up to the curb of the pub, Theodore standing near the curb with his phone to his ear and a steaming paper cup in his hand.

“Okay?” Theodore pressed.

Hanging up the phone, Harry leaned out the window and smirked, “Okay.”

Jumping, Theodore turned around and smiled at him softly. “I missed you.”

Harry nodded his head and reached out to tug Theodore down to his level, pressing a long, deep kiss to his lips. Maybe Theodore was right, maybe they both needed to be better. To themselves and to each other. Maybe Harry needed to stop thinking he was alone in this and stop resenting Theodore for invading every facet of his life, every facet and every pore that Harry had invited him into, wanted him in, _needed_ him in.

“I missed you too,” he whispered against Theodore’s lips.   “Let’s go home." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So surprise, Dominic is going to have a baby. It's not really a huge thing, but that scene kind of wrote itself so I rolled with it.


	49. "Beautiful Trauma" by Pink

**YouTube Channel, The Real Talk Daily: Maverick and Elena Valence dating?**

**Mckinley:** So the newest rumor churning through the mill is that Maverick and Elena Valence are dating…

**Channing:** Yeah, no.

**Mckinley:** The rumors aren’t totally baseless. On her Instagram she showed pictures of being in his house with his dogs and cats. They were photographed together on this long romantic walk through Hampstead Heath and going to breakfast and lunch together. I mean they’ve been out and about together.

**Channing:** I just don’t buy it. I’m not saying celebs haven’t had very public flings—Justin Bieber, anybody?—but Maverick went through a lot of work to keep his girlfriend through rehab and pregnancy scares. I just don’t buy him cheating so publicly with Elena Valence.

**Mckinley:** It’s a little far-fetched…okay _a lot_ far-fetched, but people claim that they’re on this romantic trip together in Greece. But false alarm people, they _are_ in Greece, because Elena’s visiting Athens with her brother, Mikala Hina, and their parents. Maverick is reportedly filming his next music video which we’re all hoping is for ‘Commitment.’ Let’s not ruin things before they begin, people. They’re not dating. Stop the madness.

 

**Maverick (@MaverickOfficial)**

My tan is so killer I’m going to have to have my GP check me out for melanoma #yikes #mykonos

 

To: margaretleona.gallagher@gmail.com

From: kcreissman@gmail.co.uk

Subject: RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: Maverick Investigation

Maggie,

I found something pretty juicy while I was following Maverick the other day. They’re probably not substantial enough to make any real heat, but I’ll keep looking for more to bolster the story and give it some meat. Just take a look at the pics and let me know if I’m on the right track.

Best,

KC

 

**Teddy Langston (@TM_1996)**

@HaroldBSterling but it’s like this right? Mykonos or Santorini? #santorini

 

**Harry Benton-Sterling (@HaroldBSterling)**

@TM_1996 if you’re trying to tell me that Santorini is a more romantic city than Mykonos we’ll just have to get a divorce #notkidding #mykonos

 

**Tinhat Maveratics WhatsApp Chat**

**janleemav:** There’s no definitive evidence that Mav got married just a lot of speculation…

**hensley9804:** I tried looking up the public records but there’s nothing under Theodore Maverick.

**54_lylanecolt:** Maybe under Theodore Langston? That’s his legal name or maybe even Theodore Adelaide, which is his given name on his BC. Probs.

**774nana:** Langston? I have a friend who follows this travel blogger’s Twitter and Instagram under the name Teddy Langston. Any connection?

**hensley9804:** whhhhhaaaaaaa?

**sassysavvy has been added**

**774nana:** tell them about the blogger guy.

**sassysavvy:** Pretty sure he has a bf, lives in London, did drugs. Got married recently. Has a dog and a couple cats.

**janleemay:** Well my my my…

**54_lylanecolt:** What’s this Twitter handle again?

 

To: rosemaryireland@sterlingandireland.com

Cc: alexandersullivan@sterlingandireland.com

From: haroldbsterling@sterlingandireland.com

Subject: RE: Dominic and Beverly

Just to confirm,

Dominic had me meet him and Bev to confirm she is pregnant, he knows the baby is his (and even if it isn’t he doesn’t actually care or want to know). They’re going to try and make the relationship work for real this time, but they don’t want this in the presses until she’s in her sixth month to avoid having to report on issues like miscarriages or any potential health defects. Ducks in a row.

I appreciate it from B4.

 

**Text message from Theodore**

**Theodore:** Why is there no food in the house?

**Harry:** …I haven’t been living out of my office.

**Theodore:** Don’t even bother coming home.

**Theodore:** Just meet me at Tesco.

**Harry:** Which Tesco?

**Theodore:** The big one.

**Harry:** Midnight groceries?

**Theodore:** Midnight groceries.

**Harry:** I want mac&cheese, the good southern shit.

**Theodore:** On it.

* * *

“Is there a list?” Harry inquired where he reclined in the shopping cart, soles of his feet pressed against the side closest to Theodore and knees upturned to give him enough room in the cart.

“Was there supposed to be?” Theodore replied, eyebrows rising as he snagged a four-pack of yogurt off the refrigerated display case. He held the green containers of cherry flavored Activa yogurts up for Harry to see. “Cherry or mixed berry?”

“Cherry,” Harry said with a cheeky smile, reaching out to snag the yogurts form Theodore’s hand and stick it in the basket. “Are you going to get your gross Greek yogurt?”

“Greek yogurt is delicious and healthier than your Activa crap.”

“Did you just insult Activa?” Harry demanded in disbelief.

“Honestly, such an ass,” Theodore said, rolling his eyes behind the lenses of his glasses.

Theodore rarely ever tried that stereotypical and rarely working celebrity costuming thing to hide his identity. It wasn’t really necessary. In public, Theodore tended to straddle the line between glamorous and R&B chic, but when he wasn’t parading himself before the press or his legions of fans, Theodore was barely recognizable. His hair was hidden beneath a black beanie, black-rimmed glasses on his face, and wearing an ‘All You Need Is Star Wars and A Cat’ t-shirt over black joggers tucked into Timberland work boots.

People would be able to tell if they stared too long, but people rarely gazed at him long enough to place him when he was out dressed in Jack Wills joggers and ribbed beanies.

“What else do we need?”

“This is why we need a _list_ ,” Harry explained, leaning his cheek on the back of his hand curled over the side of the shopping cart.

“This is why we just methodically stroll through the aisles and grab things off of the shelves until we run out of aisles to peruse.” Theodore countered, wiggling his eyebrows with a boyish smile.

“I feel old,” Harry stated as Theodore tossed some cheese into the cart along with a carton of milk and a bag of baby spinach and romaine lettuce hearts for his ridiculously hipster salads. “Do you feel old?”

“I’m twenty-four, so no I don’t actually feel old,” Theodore told him with an impish grin and a shrug. “Why do _you_ feel old?”

“We’re domestic,” Harry pouted.

Theodore scoffed and shook his head, pausing to let Harry grab some apples, bananas, and a bag of oranges. “Does being domestic mean we’re old? We’re not old. Maybe a little bit boring, but I’m dry as the Sahara and when I’m not the whole world devolves into a fiery inferno of psychosis, so what’s there to be fun?”

“Alcohol does not equate to fun,” Harry said tonelessly, shaking his head. “Pause.” Theodore stopped the cart while Harry grabbed minced beef, minced turkey breast, and sausages, loading them into the cart. He frowned as he considered their growing stockpile. “We need chicken kievs.”

“You mean the refrigerated food your buy in bulk to avoid having to cook?”

“And bacon. We always need bacon.”

“You should make me a fry up.”

Harry hummed thoughtfully and tipped back his head to rest on the cart and considered Theodore through his eyelashes. Their domesticity was a part of growing up, Harry figured, but a part of him—the part of him that his mother had cultivated—was petrified by the very thought of it. His mother had chafed against that taming, against that trite and trivial nature that Theodore seemed to embrace.

He couldn’t help but keep waiting for the other shoe to drop, for Theodore to realize that this double life of posh celebrity living and domesticated working husband when he wasn’t in LA wasn’t what he wanted. He never said a word about it, never seemed restless when he had nothing but a seemingly endless amount of downtime in London collaborating or dodging emails about interviews and tour scheduling, but Harry couldn’t imagine that this would be permanent, that Theodore wanted to live like this forever.

And Harry didn’t know how to live loud. Had never wanted to.

Harry was a quiet manipulator, a kingmaker, a shadowed puppet master with no patience to handle living in the spotlight. Theodore reveled in it. He didn’t regret getting married, but perhaps it hadn’t been the best idea.

“I wrote another song about you,” Theodore confessed, blushing red.

“Is it terrible?” Harry inquired tonelessly while tossing naan, scones, and two containers of blueberry muffins into the cart as they rolled through the bakery section. When Theodore didn’t immediately answer, Harry glanced at him, taking in his stricken expression. “What’s the problem?”

“Nothing,” Theodore promised swiftly, shaking his head. “Nothing, its just…Dido sung it for me. With a jazz band and partial symphonic band. It’s not exactly what I wanted. It’s my usual brand of perfection—”

“Humble,” Harry remarked with a laugh.

Theodore shrugged and continued on as if he hadn’t heard the subtle amused rebuke in Harry’s words. “But it’s not exactly what I wanted.”

“It’s not _your_ song. It’s a collaboration. You have to let it go a little.”

Theodore grimaced and shook his head, stopping to open the door of the industrial-sized refrigerator. “Should we get frozen onion rings?”

“You hate frozen onion rings. I can make them from scratch anyway, your mum taught me. Best just get frozen chips. At least we’ll eat those,” Harry stated, watching him with growing interest.

“And chicken dippers,” Theodore remarked as he plucked them out of the freezer with a broad smile on his face and tossed them to Harry. “Frozen pizza?”

“Absolutely not,” Harry declared, shaking his head and hopping over the ledge of the cart to snag the pizza from Theodore’s hands and place it back into the refrigerator. “If you want to have pizza, you should have just said so. We’re not eating _frozen_ pizza.”

“Especially not English frozen pizza,” Theodore agreed lightly, abandoning the cart to Harry’s care and practically skipping towards the section of ice cream. “The UK has no appreciation for salt. Terrible pizza. Terrible Mexican food. Terrible all around. Horrible, horrible taste all of it, you know?”

“Our food is delicious,” Harry argued, bristling at the insult.

Theodore turned and offered him a droll look, “You’ve traveled. You _know_ that’s not true. I mean have you ever _tried_ French pastries? Polish kielbasa? German bratwurst and kraut? Swedish cinnamon rolls? Italian pasta?”

“I did travel after I graduated,” Harry admitted with a long-suffering sigh.

“Yes, but have you ever been to Rome?”

“No,” Harry said, “we decided on Venice instead and passed through Genoa when we were on the train bouncing around.”

“You’re never been to Rome?” Theodore stated aghast.

Harry pursed his lips and shrugged his shoulders.

For a moment, Theodore studied Harry before humming to himself and nodding, “We have to go.”

“What?”

Theodore only shook his head and wrested the cart from Harry’s hands and raced towards the checkout counters while Harry followed behind. As he tossed the food onto the counter, Theodore pulled out his mobile phone, speaking into the receiver in halting Italian while glancing at Harry with a considering look.

“Yeah,” he said after a moment in English. “That works. We can make that. Which…yeah? Alright, thank you.”

“What are you up to?” Harry inquired suspiciously.

Theodore only grinned and offered the cashier his credit card. “Not as great as America,” Theodore told Harry while the cashier narrowed her eyes on him and scoffed. Harry crooked an eyebrow and shook his head. “What? Everything in America seems to operate 24/7. The entire UK shuts down at eleven o’clock. What even is that? How do people get things done? Not to worry. I found a way.”

“A way to _what_?” Harry persisted while Theodore only shook his head and hustled them out the door after taking his card back.

They bundled the shopping bags into the car while Theodore plucked the keys from Harry’s back pocket and slid behind the wheel. Tilting back his head, Harry huffed and circled the car to slide into the passenger’s seat. Sitting cross-legged, Harry eyed Theodore out of the corner of his eye as the man whistled like nothing strange was happening and turning up the radio every second that passed with Harry staring at him like his body had been replaced by an alien.

The drive from the Tesco Superstore to their home near Hampstead Heath was barely ten minutes, but it was the longest ten minutes of Harry’s life.

Instead of pulling into the driveway, Theodore left the car idling on the curb.

“Stay here,” he ordered brightly as Harry rested his hand on the latch of the door. Harry hesitated, eyebrows rising in a wordless question, and Theodore only smiled wider, nodding his head in a wordless assurance. “Just…trust me. Give me like five—no _ten_ —minutes. Okay?”

“What…?” Harry started in mild disbelief. His eyes landed on Theodore’s plaintive expression and his resolve softened. With sigh, Harry nodded his head and relaxed into his seat, pulling out his mobile phone and opening the Township app with a droll look towards Theodore. “Fine, it’s fine. I’ll just sit here and cultivate my farm. I only have five hundred points until I get to level thirty. All I need to do is fill one airplane.”

Theodore rolled his eyes but smiled, slamming the driver’s side door shut. He grabbed the bags from the backseat and darted up the stairs into the house, nudging the dogs aside and closing the door behind him.

Harry tilted his head back against the head rest and narrowed his eyes on the front door where the Christmas wreath still hung from the hook on the door. The Christmas tree lights shone from the front window until the flickered off abruptly, each of the lights shimmering from inside gradually flickering off. The pair of cats hopped down from their cat tree in the window a moment before Theodore was visible in the window, waving at Harry before drawing the curtains. His eyebrows rose in confusion as he considered what the hell was suddenly going on with his husband.

A few minutes later, Theodore reappeared from the front door with a bugling duffel bag tossed over his shoulder, the two dogs tugging on their leashes, a backpack thrown over his back, and a pet carrier dangling from his hand. Harry’s eyebrows crept higher on his forehead, following Theodore as he locked the door, dashed down the stairs, and deposited the bags in the trunk and animals into the backseat before sliding into the driver’s seat again.

“What is going on, Teddy?”

“Shh,” he said, “no questions.”

‘No questions’ was easier said than done when driving them southeast towards the Thames via Hackney. It supplemented his curiosity by watching _The Princess Weiyoung_ a third time from the very begin of the show until they came to a stop at London City Airport at the valet parking booth.

Before he could ask a question, Theodore was out of the car and shaking hands first with the valet and then with another man in an expensive suit whose prominence with their airport was obvious from the badge hanging from his neck. A moment later, the trunk was being opened, bags pulled out. Harry slid out of the car and grabbed the cats while Theodore took out the dogs.

Then there was no time for questions, the man ushering them through the doors of the airport towards security for VIP customers. He offered their passes to security as they went through with minimal effort before being shown to a private jet awaiting them on the runway. Dazed, Harry had no time to take in what was going on while Theodore shook hands with the flight attendant and pilots, thanking the man who worked at the airport and helping Harry onto the plane.

Harry collapsed onto the sofa, Theodore bundling down beside him and lifting Wu Zetian to curl up between the pair of them. He passed Harry a cup of coffee when the flight attendant offered them to him, and Harry accepted the cup dazedly.

“You chartered a plane?”

Theodore hummed with a nervous smile, “Just drink your coffee. I’ll answer you when we land.”

‘When we land’ turned out to be almost three hours later when Theodore prodded Harry awake and had tugged him excitedly to gaze out the window to catch a glimpse of the coliseum lit up in the night sky. Harry turned to him, gaping, but Theodore only smiled nervously, guiding them off the plane once they touched down in Italy to where a limousine already awaited them. Laughing in mild disbelief, Harry shook his head while Theodore smirked and helped him inside, dropping the pet carrier into his lap before sliding in with the dogs.

“Rome?” Harry asked in a soft whisper.

Theodore smiled and pressed a kiss to Harry’s lips. “Everyone should see Rome. It’s one of the last ancient places we have left.”

“Most people would say that’s a good things. Ancient times were nothing to be proud off.”

He shrugged and cupped Harry’s cheek in his hand. Pressing another, deeper kiss to Harry’s lips, Theodore answered softly, “Why? I mean they brutal and short and completely unfair, but nothing’s really changed. At least in ancient times things were honest and genuine and almost romantic in their intensity.”

“I’m sure people dying of scurvy and leprosy probably don’t agree,” Harry stated in a whisper.

Theodore laughed and pulled back as the limousine rolled to a stop in front of a salmon pink building, a pair of double doors encased by an archway. The doors were opened by a curvy woman with a cheerful smile who hustled them inside with a greeting pat to the dogs and a terse order in Italian to bring their bags before she guided them inside the hotel and up to their one bedroom apartment overlooking the coliseum. Harry wandered through the hall and rooms until he slipped out onto the private terrace breathing in the fresh night air.

He heard Theodore follow behind him as the last of the hotel employees departed, arms slipping behind him and Theodore’s chin on his shoulder.

“I love Rome,” Theodore said to Harry.

Sighing, Harry turned him, starting to argue about the whole excursion when Theodore shook his head.

“Stop, I know you.” Harry fell silent, and Theodore smiled. “Stop self-sabotaging. I am not your mother.”

Harry flinched unable to refute the allegation. Theodore _did_ know him, and if he knew enough to suspect that _this_ was where Harry’s head was, then there was nothing to consider.

“You think that I didn’t get your comments? About us being old and boring? I did. I’m not stupid, but you’re just paranoid. You seem to think that one day I’ll wake up and regret getting married and settling down, but I won’t. I never had a home. And by the time I could, music was just…more important.”

“And you didn’t trust what you had,” Harry pointed out.

Theodore nodded shrugging his shoulders. “And neither do you. I love touring and I love music and I love being a celebrity, I mean we can’t deny that. I feed off it, but if you said tomorrow that you wanted to live off-grid in Alaska on a homestead, then…I can still make music it just wouldn’t be for the world. And that’s okay. I’d rather have you. It’s not spur-of-the-moment. It’s not a whim. I thought about it. When you spent weeks ignoring my phone calls, I thought about it _a lot_. I’m not settling and I’m not restless. I want a home and normalcy and domesticity with you.”

“But—” Harry started hoarsely, eyes prickling with unshed tears as he tried to recoil from Theodore’s hold to hide his sudden vulnerability.

Theodore shook his head and cupped Harry’s face, kissing him until Harry relaxed enough to kiss back. “I think we should go therapy together.”

Harry laughed a little and nodded, “Okay.”

“And I saw this Chow Mix in Alabama that I want to adopt.”

“Okay,” Harry agreed laughing harder.

“And I really want you to fuck my mouth,” Theodore said.

“Okay,” Harry said, brain short-circuiting a little from the words.

“But mostly, I just want you and the boring domestic life that we build together. Even if we get exposed and I can never play a show without controversy ever again, even if you quit public relations to become a recluse, even if you decide you hate animals and want us to get rid of our brood.”

“Even if I want you to get rid of Attila?”

“I’m not saying I wouldn’t be upset, but I won’t leave,” Theodore said. “I’m loud and restless and a public figure, but I’ve never wanted anything more than I want you. I’ve never loved anyone the way I love you, and I want us to be as strong as we possibly can be.”

Harry’s hands cupped his face, and slowly, he nodded. “Okay, Teddy. We’ll work on it. On _us_. Together.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nobody panic. We're not getting rid of the dog, it's all hypothetical. And next chapter, drama begins anew


	50. "I Did Something Bad" by Taylor Swift

**Text message from Rosie**

**Rosie:** I’m at Starbucks. Coffee black? Like usual?

**Rosie:** They still have smores. And this weird cinnamon concoction

**Rosie:** Hello?

**Rosie:** Sully says you’re still not at the office.

**Rosie:** I’m not getting you coffee.

**Rosie:** ARE U ALIVE????

**Rosie:** Answer me….

**Rosie:** I’m pregnant.

**Harry:** U better not be.

**Rosie:** He lives! Where r u?

**Harry:** The Roman Forum.

**Rosie:** Oh the Roman Forum.

**Rosie:** As in rome!!!! Don’t forget gelato.

**Harry:** I.e. breakfast

 

**Teddy Langston (@TM_1996)**

Gelato for breakfast is almost good as waking up having your dick sucked. Almost.

 

**Dakota Crosby (@K9_Crosby)**

@TM_1996 my eyes are burning!!!!!

 

**Text message from Preston Duke**

**Preston Duke:** What do you mean he’s gone?

**Rory:** He sent us emails today saying he left late last night

**Rory:** He’s out of town.

**Preston Duke:** Where?

**Rory:** I couldn’t say…

**Preston Duke:** How can you not know?

**Preston Duke:** He has duties to attend to!

**Rory:** I said I can’t say not that I don’t know.

 

To: kcreissman@gmail.co.uk

From: margaretleona.gallagher@gmail.com

Subject: RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: Maverick Investigation

KC,

Stop by the office to give me what you have. I’m fascinated and it’s best that if the story’s as good as you say to get it out before Maverick releases his next single. Then it’s more likely to stick. With as skilled a PR rep as he has it’s best to make this as quick and messy as possible to keep Harry on his toes. Off what you sent before I think you’ve definitely got something, but I need to see more. And I’ll ask Nadir to sit in on our session so he can work his magic.

I’ll see you then.

Best,

Maggie

* * *

The single good thing to come from Maggie’s disastrous lawsuit with Arthur Bailey and Konstantin Kimura-Petrov was being forced to start her own business. She’d staked her future on the magazine, mortgaged her house in the States for the magazine, gambled her and her husband’s financial future for it. Simon insisted he believed in her, but Maggie believed more firmly in the power of dirty gossip. _The Daily Mail_ had survived long on little else but malicious gossip, and though she’d surely get a few lawsuits as long as she walked the line and didn’t incur the wrath of Konstantin Kimura-Petrov or Harry Benton-Sterling in the meantime, then likely she could very well survive.

Unmasked Magazine had sold well the first month of its weekly publication and hadn’t garnered much malcontent until three months in when people had started to sit up and take notice. The first attack had come from another gossip site, this one the online entertainment news channel on YouTube, The Real Talk Daily, whose creator, Mckinley Bretton, had outright stated that Unmasked Magazine was gutter drivel intended to commodify celebrities and sully their names.

Konstantin Kimura-Petrov had publically agreed with the sentiment.

And still, the magazine was selling more and more copies with each passing week due to their habit of digging for hard-hitting news stories rather than just watered down columns about fashion, dating, and possible pregnancies. Outing Arthur Bailey had set the bar high for what people expected of her, but so far, they’d continued to deliver with articles about secret affairs, celebrity abortions, and family drama that people tried so desperately to hide from the public with a few good words and a half-hearted smile.

The magazine’s small office was in Camden just down the street from King’s Cross neither a huge space nor overpriced, perfect for a business just finding its footing. The office was sleek and open with glass cubicle offices, polished concrete floors, and a tiny kitchenette good for coffee and dry snacks. The employees numbered a dozen, and Maggie preferred money go more into research and investigations rather than luxurious office spaces that neither she nor her employees were expected to be in save for their two weekly meetings.

Their in-house editor, Daniel Wu, sat with Maggie’s first hire, Georgia Hanson, going over her upcoming story about Chloe Masters’s alcoholism and numerous flings with married men twice her age that Disney had tried to hide during her tenure as a starlet.

Another writer, Ollie Tinter, was perched on her desk screaming into the phone to chase down a source.

Most of the others had sent in texts and emails about where they were.

Most days, the office was quiet like this.

But, then, most days, Maggie wasn’t expecting KC Reiss to stroll into the building with a big story on the long considered untouchable Maverick. He’d always handled his own press with incredible aplomb, and if this story had legs it would be the biggest thing to break since the Arthur Bailey mess a year ago.

KC herself didn’t look like much, a twiggy little stick figure tottering on tiny toothpick legs, a head of short cornsilk hair and tortoiseshell glasses that occupied half of her face. Short for Katelyn Cassandra, KC fit her spunky personality better than the long-winded name of her birth. And for such a tiny, pixielike girl, she stalked into the room in knee-high leather boots, spiked and studded, sparkling leggings, and a cashmere tunic beneath a studded leather motorcycle jacket.

Wild didn’t even begin to describe her.

And to think, she’d only gotten this story because she’d been outside a bar smoking completely by chance and seen things completely coincidentally.

With a bright smile, KC offered a jaunty wave and skipped across the office like a demented fairy to plop into the seat across from Maggie with a self-satisfied smile on her face that put Maggie at ease.

She’d found something.

“I looked at the pictures you sent me,” Maggie drawled, nodding her head as though she’d been anything less than thrilled to see them.

Blurry as they were and as distanced at they were, the photographs would certainly raised eyebrows amongst the general public. There wasn’t anything obviously masculine about the man he was kissing through a car window, but Maggie had a feeling that had settled in her gut. Cinnamon hair that short, skin that pale. Most girls in the teens and twenties that lived in England sprayed tanned like they wanted to look like they’d just left the Caribbean islands. If there were better photos, they could be more specific.

“They’ll definitely raise some eyebrows, but they’re not definitive enough to release anything but an article about Maverick being pictured kissing an unidentified person.”

“It was definitely a man,” KC argued.

“After the last lawsuit, you know we have to go by the pictures,” Maggie informed KC. “Suggestion is far better than outright speculation. This magazine won’t survive a serious lawsuit like the one I just came out of. We’re too young and my reputation is too fragile to survive another hit like that one. But what about your investigation, anything new on that front?”

KC shrugged and reached down for the messenger bag she’d leaned against the leg of her chair. Unzipping the bag, she pulled a thin laptop from inside and set it on the desk before retrieving a camera from within. “I followed them for a while and tried to get some better shots, but they’re _very_ careful. It’s definitely a man, but their car windows are tinted dark enough that you can’t see in. He lives at Maverick’s house. I got some shots of them at the Tesco up near Brent Cross Shopping Centre, but they’re careful not to touch too familiarly in public. I lost them yesterday though.”

“Lost them how?” Maggie inquired as she accepted the camera KC handed her, flipping through the pictures and frowning. KC had clearly tried, but there were no photographs of them touching more than as affectionate friends and no shots of their faces.

“I followed them last night after they left Tesco.” KC explained with a shrug of indifference that didn’t quite manage the blasé expression she was going for. Annoyance hung heavy on her petite frame. “Then followed them to London City Airport. They were escorted through the airport and since there has been no sign of them, I assume they took a private jet somewhere.”

Maggie offered a long-suffering sigh and nodded, utterly unsurprised.

It had unfortunately happened to her almost half a dozen times before. To be following a subject diligently only to have them pick up and take off on a private jet, out of the country, where you couldn’t follow. Maggie was used to that sort of mindless chase, but KC was strung out and frustrated at losing them to the unknown regions of the airport, that much was for sure. This wasn’t some fantasy drama where KC could track their hoof prints through the forest. To find them, they would just have to wait until they poked their heads up or gave some clue of their location.

“It’s not particularly shocking,” Maggie informed her sympathetically. “And it looks like what you have works for now.”

“For now?” KC asked.

“You can stay on this if you want,” Maggie told her.

“It’ll be much harder afterwards, but it’s doable. Better to release this now, give it a bit of a conversation starter especially since the music video for ‘Commitment’ drops in a week. The song will fuel the fire, and the story won’t be able to die.”

KC’s eyebrows rose in surprise having not considered that.

Whatever she saw on her laptop made her bit her bottom lip, eyebrows furrow in thought.

“Any idea who the guy is?”

“Yeah, actually,” KC said, scratching her head, dumbfounded. She turned her keyboard around and pointed a picture someone had posted on Tumblr. “Who is this guy? Harry Benton-Sterling? I’ve seen him in dozens of backstage photographs with Maverick but no one ever kicks up a fuss about that.”

Maggie’s eyebrows rose as she reached out to tug the laptop close. Her own brows furrowed, eyes roving between the photograph on screen and the ones KC had taken from a distance. It looked like…but it couldn’t be. _Not_ Harry Benton-Sterling. In all her interactions with the man, Harry had been nothing but professional, disapproving of rule-breaking but staunchly protective. He seemed like the kind of man who’d marry some high-powered beauty and have 2.5 kids with a white picket fence. That colleague of his in fact, Rosie Ireland.

Harry Benton-Sterling couldn’t possibly be…

“He’s a hotshot publicist. _The_ Hollywood hotshot publicist right now, in fact. He broke Cris Emerson and Irial’s affair. He’s Daiki Company’s go-to guy. Cleaned up the Arthur Bailey mess and brought that lawsuit against me. He handles every major issues in Hollywood right now, primarily those affecting British-based celebrities. It’s not a surprise to see him around Maverick, but…” Maggie frowned and scratched her head, scrolling through the post at the sheer number of times he’d been spotted with Maverick. Fans didn’t find this suspicious, but Maggie knew what Harry Benton-Sterling _did_ , and he did not do rudimentary PR even for some of the most famous popstars in the world. “But the _frequency_ is unbelievable. He attends events with him?”

“Yeah,” KC said, worrying her bottom lip as she pondered the situation. “And I did some research into him personally, his Instagram account puts him in the French Alps during almost the duration of Maverick’s tenure in rehab.”

Maggie looked up at that in disbelief. “Harry?”

“Yes.”

“There were some rumors Maverick had gotten married. What do his fans have on that?”

KC nodded her head quicker, a look of excitement crossing her face as she considered the question. “I bookmarked a Tumblr post about it.”

Maggie pulled it up, reading swiftly through the thread, eyebrows rising all the while.

“What do you think?”

“I think that Harry Benton-Sterling is a lot more interesting than I thought,” Maggie drawled, slowly closing the computer and resting her interlaced hands atop it. “I never thought he’d have it in him. Sleeping with a client. But there it is. Of course, we can’t prove it, and even if we could, we can’t afford the lawsuit. So, what we’re going to do is be very, very careful. If we hint at the facts instead of just outright stating them, we can avoid any potential lawsuits. I’ll give our legal team on retainer a call and see how to properly handled this, but this story is big. Harry Benton-Sterling having an affair with Maverick. That’s juicy…” That was revenge, Maggie thought to herself. She just had to make sure it wasn’t the sort of revenge that landed her into bigger trouble than she could wriggle her way out of.

* * *

“Why are you so pissy?” Rosie demanded flatly as she parked it in front of Sully desk and set a paper cup of steaming coffee in front of him. She popped a hip and leaned against the desk with a bright smile on her face. When Sully only looked up at her with a cool glare, Rosie sighed and cleared the corner of his desk, shoving the items towards him to perch on the end. She took a sip of her latte and batted her eyes at him. “Is this about the Rome thing? Personally, I think it’s better that he’s not here. Pain in the ass. Stick in the mud. Micromanager.”

“Harry?” Brandon asked in disbelief where he stood slamming the heel of his hand against the keypad of the copier. One of the interns looked up, head tilted quizzically and eyebrows furrowed, lips pursed in disbelief. “Harry Benton-Sterling? The so-called CEO of this company Harry Benton-Sterling.”

Rosie mimed cutting his throat.

Brandon simply rolled his eyes and continued to abuse the copy machine until Shannon nudged him out of the way to pop open the toner compartment, replacing the cartridge and shutting the door with a self-righteous expression. With a good-natured smile, he flipped her off, jumping in surprise when the copier roared to life and begin spitting out the documents he’d fed through the copier.

“You do know you basically run this office, right?” Sully hedged carefully.

Rosie sighed and tilted her head back to glare at the ceiling, “I wanted to be a novelist.”

“That’s cute,” Sully agreed evenly, nodding. “I want to be a forensic anthropologist.”

“Like Bones?” Rosie inquired, pursing her lips and tilting her head with a frown. “That’s so weird. Also, I’m not—”

“Rosie!” Dana yelled rushing into the room, chest heaving, hair disheveled, and phone in hand. “There’s been yet another interview request about Alina Rosen officially going solo. Apparently there was some shade thrown from Azadi…”

“Who’s the interview request from?” Rosie cut her off before she could continue rambling.

“ET.”

“Talk with Alina about her upcoming schedule, but otherwise confirm it. She has to respond to the shade sooner rather than later, I trust she can be discreet. Michael!” Rosie shouted as Dana rushed off, halting the slinking publicist in his tracks. He offered her a tentative smile and began to straighten, but she shook her head. “If this is about more people digging into Dominic Kinsey, better warn me now rather than later.”

“Well…it’s not digging per se, but _People_ wants to know if…”

“No,” Rosie drawled, elongating the word. “The word is ‘no.’ The word is that we can neither confirm nor deny any continuing relationship between Dominic Kinsey and Beverly Dixon. They are working on ironing out past mistakes and maintain a strong friendship, but that’s all we’re capable of divulging at this time. Got me?”

“I…yes.”

Rosie shook her head before tensing and turning towards him. “And Michael?” He tensed, freezing mid-step, and slowly, warily, turned his head to gaze back at her. Already the boy was wincing as if waiting for a physical blow. She sighed and squeezed the bridge of her nose. “Tell Klara that if she lets Dali say one more thing about his baby mama I will personally feed her to the hydra of unemployment we have locked in the basement. Do I make myself abundantly clear?”

“Rosie?” A quieter voice called for her from the hallway.

She looked up at their pale-faced and haggard receptionist who clearly needed a raise. Most people in the industry knew Harry and Rosie’s numbers and emails personally. The people who didn’t called their receptionist…that or the ones that were on the verge of complete and utter breakdowns. Mila dealt with a lot of abuse, intended or otherwise.

“Elena Valence’s people are on the line about Charlie…”

“Yeah have them call me back on my office extension in fifteen minutes. Tell them I’m finishing up a meeting.”

Mila’s eyes trailed over Sully with disbelief. “Okay,” she agreed hesitantly.

Rosie turned back to Sully, and he raised his eyebrows pointedly, “See?”

“See what?” Rosie asked, waving a hand dismissively.

She didn’t need people to point out what she already knew. Rosie was the power behind the throne, or, at least, the business. Harry’s name kept clients coming, but Rosie’s apparent business prowess kept the business afloat. People kept pointing it out as though Harry didn’t notice and took advantage of her surprising enjoyment of this aspect of business. Harry knew well enough that he preferred to get his hands dirty in the thick of the messes rather than sit in a cushy chair and pull the strings to keep them secure.

Rosie made at least twice what Harry granted in paycheck to himself and was subject to frequent bonuses, her, Sully, and Brandon who kept them all out of the poor house. He was her best friend and a fair boss and well aware of his personal failings. He didn’t have the head or diligence for business and would have traded his position as CEO for hers as COO if she’d accepted. Having a title like that made Rosie’s skin break out in hives. She was already fulfilling in the role of CEO except with out the annoying posturing and schmoozing that came with the territory.

Shaking off Sully’s unfounded concern, Rosie plowed ahead. “What’s wrong?”

“I got this weird phone call from a friend at Thompson & Hardwicke.”

“About?”

“Maggie Gallagher.”

Rosie tensed and looked over at him sharply. “What about that absolute cunt bitch?”

“She was there requesting legal advice from her solicitor about releasing a story that hints at a coming out but never quite confirms it.”

Rosie’s eyebrows furrowed as she considered that carefully.

Before she could speak, Mila popped back in again looking impossibly more harassed. “Rosie, they called _again_!”

“Okay, alright,” Rosie soothed, hopping up form the desk and holding up a hand. “Transfer the call to my office, I’m going right now. Sully,” she said, wavering for a moment while a bad reeling welled in her. “Call Harry and tell him what you told me. I have a really bad feeling about all this.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't forget about you but I had work all day and then straight to the airport so I could come home and visit my furry babies over spring break.


	51. "Damn, I Love You" by Agnez Mo

**Text message from Salem**

**Salem:** I can definitely look into her emails and things

**Salem:** You think she’s at that shit again?

**Salem:** Doesn’t she know when enough is enough?

**Harry:** We’ll see.

**Salem:** What if its not about one of your clients?

**Harry:** I get involved anyway.

**Harry:** If she needs to be made an example of twice I’m down.

**Salem:** I’m so here for it.

 

**Patrick Gallagher (@StPatty_)**

I am literally that family member that has to come around and be the voice of reason (bad, no stop) yet no one listens to me

 

**Teddy Langston (@TM_1996)**

Someone’s always gotta come around here and ruin a good time…siiiiigh

 

**Dakota Crosby (@K9_Crosby)**

@TM_1996 for me it’s usual domestic disturbances, drug busts, and felony pursuits so what’s your poison?

 

**Teddy Langston (@TM_1996)**

@K9_Crosby well you make me feel shitty now. None of those

 

To: margaretleona.gallagher@gmail.com

From: kcreissman@gmail.co.uk

Subject: RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: Maverick Investigation

I got approval on how to handle the situation from the solicitor. It will definitely come out in Monday’s print press so get ready. You still on board with staying on top of the situation as it develops?

Maggie

 

**Maverick (@MaverickOfficial)**

When you work with @JessieHan @MaRuoNing and get super into the Empress Ki/Empress of China vibes from a song #soexcited I’m bingewatching those shows later!

 

**Group MMS: Harry, Theodore, Marley, Elena, Dakota, Alina**

**Alina:** Ok but the Empress Dowager went from being qi’s #1fangirl to queen of darkness in 0.10secs

**Harry:** …I’m working here…

**Elena:** They should know better than to fuck with ki

**Marley:** Especially now that she’s a powerhungry psycho.

**Theodore:** No no no no noooooo

**Dakota:** Also trying to work. I’m filming and on-shift and filming on shift…how do I shut off notifications.

**Alina:** Ki is trying to protect the emperor and her son from all the scores of people trying to kill them obvs

**Elena:** Tell Jessie and Ruo Ning not to eat all the popcorn while I’m in the bathroom.

**Elena:** Does your cat follow everyone to the bathroom?

**Harry:** Are you all watching this together????

**Dakota:** FFS

 

**Maverick (@MaverickOfficial)**

3days till the video for commitment is released…ready for it?

 

**Elena Valence (@e_valence1997)**

@MaverickOfficial nerd did you just quote t-swift?

 

**Marley Afwa (@Marley_Afwa)**

@MaverickOfficial I for one and hella not ready for it. Omg mindsplosion.

* * *

From the outside the therapist’s office appeared as little more than a traditional London rowhouse with a white façade on the ground floor and the rest of the upper floors decorated with red brick. There was a small garden out front enclosed by a waist-high iron fence with only the smallest of signs declaring the building to be High Garden Couples Counseling and Relationship Therapy. Two bicycles had been chained to the fence along the pathway leading to the staircase where a simple white door opened to a fairly plain office a couple sofas, a coffee machine, and a basket of hot chocolate and tea bags beside paper cups.

The office of their therapist, Kat Coltrain, who’d been recommended by Dr. Kerrigan and Dr. Pequot from the rehab facility, wasn’t any better decorated than the offices. Harry had insisted he couldn’t judge the highly recommended couples counselor by her poor taste in décor, but Theodore wasn’t so certain. He reclined tensely on the woman’s hard burgundy leather sofa and cradled the Chow mix puppy he’d managed to coerce Harry into adopting with him. His eyes took in the room silently: small, boxy, and empty as can be. The walls were white, the floor hardwood, and the only furniture being built-in bookcases, a desk, and the sofa with two end tables. A trio of framed degrees hung on the wall, and on the desk was a photograph of the counselor with her husband and three young kids.

Harry, paranoid as usual, had done research on her before they’d even stepped foot in the office.

Dr. Katherine Coltrain had been born in Wales, educated primarily in the United States before returning to the UK for her Master’s and Doctorate’s degrees. She’d returned to the United States to open a practice, gotten married, and wrote three books on how to maintain a successful relationship and marriage with a partner, one of which Harry had actually borrowed from the library to read because its’ title, _Lower Your Expectations: A Guide to a Happy, Healthy Relationship_ , had amused him. She was a decent writer, but Theodore was still wary of anyone poking their nose into his relationship.

Even someone they paid specifically for that purpose.

Harry’s hand fell to rest on his bouncing knee. Theodore stilled and looked over to Harry who smiled at him softly and reached over with his other hand to stroke of the puppy’s tan fur. Taizong after the famous emperor of the Chinese Tang dynasty. He was a fairly well behaved puppy, but the cats seemed at their wit’s end with his frequent but expected accidents while they house-trained him. Even Attila had become somewhat disenchanted by the pup’s tendency to lose his patience waiting to go the next morning after they’d all gone to bed.

Theodore returned the smile shakily, and the faint buzzing of a mobile phone drew Harry’s attention.

When he looked back up, Theodore crooked an eyebrow but Harry shook his head, jaw set and expression hard. Harry, it appeared, was rapidly losing his patience waiting for Maggie Gallagher to make a move. Her publication’s new edition was released every Monday, but with the sun beginning to fade on Sunday, Harry expected one of the printer’s to get Rosie an advanced copy of the publication. He was no fan of waiting, but Maggie’s people were all too disgusting to squeal on her activities.

They both jolted when the door opened, eyes landing on their counselor. Her face wasn’t unfamiliar since they’d both seen it on the book jacket of her self-help book, but that didn’t endear her to Theodore anymore. Dr. Coltrain looked kind enough, almost grandmotherly, with graying dark hair, blue eyes magnified behind the rectangular lenses of her wire-rimmed glasses, and a purple floral-print muumuu dress that didn’t at all match her sea foam green ballet flats or the electric orange of her nail paint. At the very least, Dr. Coltrain was eclectic. At most, she was overwhelming.

Her eyebrows rose on seeing the dog.

“You two brought a friend, I see.”

“We’re working on him,” Theodore explained flatly. “He needs to stay with us right now.”

Dr. Coltrain raised her hands innocently and stepped forward to shake their hands. “I was informed. It’s no problem.” The puppy poked his head up to growl at her softly while Harry rose to shake her hand in greeting. “Dr. Katherine Coltrain. And you must be…”

“Harry Benton-Sterling,” Harry agreed reaching down to help Theodore to his feet. Theodore shifted the puppy to beneath his arm to grasp Dr. Coltrain’s hand, eyeing her distrustfully while Harry sighed quietly. But not quietly enough that Theodore didn’t hear and smile in amusement.

“Theodore Langston,” Theodore told her, shaking her hand before reeling back to sit cross-legged on the sofa, Taizong cradled to his chest.

Dr. Coltrain gazed between the two of them as they sat back down before slipping into her own seat. She crossed her legs and opened the pad on her desk to a clean sheet of paper, pulling a pen from the holder on her desk. “Usually by the time I get clients in here they’re on they’re on the verge of divorce. I’ve heard that’s not the case with the two of you. Correct?”

“We’ve only been married a few months,” Theodore drawled.

Dr. Coltrain looked up at them, eyebrows risen like that didn’t answer nearly enough of the question.

“I guess that doesn’t mean much in today’s society,” Harry said, nudging his shoulder into Theodore’s arm.

Theodore scoffed, “You mean for today’s celebrities.”

“That too,” Harry agreed with a broad grin before looking up at Dr. Coltrain. “No we’re not on the verge of divorce but it’s something that we take very seriously.”

“We’re both pros at self-sabotage,” Theodore replied with a thin smile.

Harry shrugged, “I mean, yeah.”

Dr. Coltrain nodded and jotted down in her pad. “That’s a lot of self-awareness. I know that Europe in particular is not partial to therapy unless matters become absolutely desperate. Neither does insurance tend to cover mental health specialists, which is why I just find the entire situation fascinating.”

“My business partner’s American,” Harry reported with a shrug. “Mental health care insurance coverage was something she insisted on. She sees her therapist regularly. And Theodore was raised in America.”

Theodore half-smiled and shrugged, “Not exactly, but I have faith in the mental health profession. I can’t pretend that it hasn’t done me any good.”

Dr. Coltrain nodded, “Kerry faxed me over some of your paperwork from the rehab center, or the papers regarding the sessions you both attended together. Is individual therapy still something you attend?”

“No…” Theodore drawled, lips pressing together awkwardly as he coughed into his balled fist.

“And has this impacted your sobriety in any way noticeable? Have you used either drugs or alcohol since leaving the rehab facility? I read that an incident regarding cocaine and alcohol nearly ended your relationship prior to your entering rehab. Is this still a point of…” Dr. Coltrain’s words trailed off as her eyes darted to Harry who’d pulled out his mobile to glance at the screen before gritting his teeth and returning the device to his pocket and readjusting the jacket. “…contention between the pair of you?”

Harry looked over at Theodore, allowing him to answer uninterrupted.

Theodore cleared his throat awkwardly and blushed a little. “Never with cocaine. I don’t think I’d be able to stop against if I ever used it again. But I can’t seem to stay away from alcohol.”

Dr. Coltrain nodded and looked between the pair. “Is this something you’ve committed to helping each other with? The UK has a fairly lush drinking culture, and I’ve seen many people fail at their sobriety due to their partner’s insistence that they don’t also have to participate.”

Theodore bristled, offended by the words though Harry seemed neither surprised nor concerned by them.

“There’s no alcohol in the house, and I don’t drink around Theodore. Ever. Most of his friends don’t either.”

“What do you think you struggle with, then?” Dr. Coltrain inquired.

“I go to a lot of parties. There’s wine and champagne and beer and cocktails. Even though my friends don’t drink I’m still surrounded by alcohol all the time, and even though I know I shouldn’t drink, I just pick up a glass and do it anyway.”

“Is the drinking also impactful on your relationship?”

Harry and Theodore exchanged a quick look but Theodore pursed his lips and blinked uncertainly. That much he’d never asked Harry. The drinking and drugs together had always been the immediate concern, and part of Theodore had always assumed that it was the only concern that truly mattered. Honesty was one thing, but most of their communication still relied on assumptions and educated guesses.

“Not in the immediacy,” Harry admitted, an uncomfortable look crossing his face as he tilted back his head and glare at the ceiling, reluctantly admitting, “But I could become one.”

“Seriously?” Theodore demanded in disbelief. “You didn’t tell me that.”

“Honestly? I didn’t think it would be a problem, but it might be.” Harry confessed stubbornly, shrugging his shoulders. “You’re a social drinker, but you’re a also a socialite so how long can you drink socially when it spills over into every other facet of your life—into _mine_ , you know?”

“You’re also a social drinker,” Theodore retorted.

“But I’m a workaholic and we don’t have time for company parties,” Harry replied with a cool air of disdain. He obviously was not going to be taken in Theodore’s thinly veiled attempt at shifting blame.

“Do you trust him?” Dr. Coltrain inquired suddenly, looking up to gaze between the pair of them before landing and holding on Harry. “Do you trust him to make good, sound decisions under the influence of _any_ addictive substance?”

Harry inhaled and hesitated, eyes sliding to land on Theodore who tensed under the look and waited. Eyes sliding away anxiously, Harry shook his head slightly and offered a dejected sigh.

“I…no? He’s an addict. And as far as that’s concerned, impulse control has always been a stretch when he’d under the influence. And okay, your drug of choice was cocaine,” Harry said without meeting Theodore’s eyes, shrugging dismissively, “but that doesn’t mean it can’t become alcohol. You’re not immune to adopting another vice now that you’ve shirked the first one.”

“I had no idea you though so little of me,” Theodore stated tonelessly.

“I don’t,” Harry promised, turning to him and taking his hand. Theodore blinked back tears, keeping his face straight and expression carefully shuttered. “I don’t,” he promised softer. “And I know you wouldn’t mean to but people can’t control their addictions, Teddy. That’s why they’re addictions.”

“Do you think it’s more than that?” Dr. Coltrain inquired of Theodore whose gaze didn’t move from Harry. He pressed his lips together to avoid answering the question. “I do.”

“Are you afraid that I’ll slip up and ruin everything all over again?”

Harry hesitated but that was answer enough.

Theodore felt a pang go through him that he’d never be able to fully live down that disappointment, that maybe they’d never fully move beyond that single slip-up that almost ended everything they’d built together. That he hadn’t done anything would never be as important as he memory lapse and inappropriate behavior.

“Will we ever be passed that?” Theodore asked in a whisper so soft that it was almost soundless.

Harry looked over at him thoughtfully and relaxed back into the sofa. He slid one arm across the back to rest his fingers on Theodore’s shoulder. The gesture relaxed Theodore some but not enough to make him forget his worry over the question’s answer. It wasn’t a worry that Theodore would overcome with a few affectionate gestures and Harry’s verbal assurances. As heavily as the issue weighed on Harry, Theodore felt that same weight sinking his soul. For all he wanted Harry to move beyond the incident, Theodore hadn’t either.

“It’s not that we aren’t,” Harry disagreed uncomfortably. “It’s just that…” he trailed off, eyebrows furrowing as he pulled his mobile phone form his pocket. His eyebrows rose. Dr. Coltrain’s teeth set in frustration. Theodore raised his eyebrows in a wordless question, and this time Harry bit his lip and shrugged with outright confusion, flashing him a glimpse of the message on screen.

**Rosie:** It’s not what I thought it was. I’ll call you when I finish the examination.

Theodore pressed his lips together and shrugged, mirroring the confusion on Harry’s face.

“It’s just a fear now that’s always going to stay with me.”

“You think it doesn’t stay with me?”

“Not in the same way,” Harry argued with a shrug. Theodore balked unable to help but feel insulted. Harry shook his head and glanced down at his phone again, waiting and expectant.

Dr. Coltrain sighed and tapped her pen against her desk with an infuriated look on her face. “Harry,” he jolted and looked up at her, “is there something more important than this happening right this second?”

“I…don’t actually know,” Harry drawled, waving his mobile phone while Theodore stifled a laugh. “I’m waiting on a phone call. Where were we?” He asked, turning back to Theodore.

“You were insulting me.”

Harry sighed and rolled his eyes. “I wasn’t. You just…you see your addictions but you also convince yourself that I can live with them. And maybe you were right before when I didn’t know where the line was, but I do know now. And I know that if we get back to that place I won’t be able to let it go. I can’t live with doing this a second time, and I can’t keep trying to help you only to watch you devolve again. It’s a lot, and it weighs on me. Always. All the time, you know? I…” Harry trailed off as his phone rang. He smiled awkwardly and stood up. “I have to take this.”

“Harry!” Dr. Coltrain started as Harry smiled apologetically and slipped out the door. She sighed and turned to Theodore. “Is this something he does often?”

“Kind of,” Theodore shrugged, scratching the puppy’s head as its tiny tongue licked the line of his jaw.   “But this isn’t a problem.”

“It’s not?” Dr. Coltrain inquired, eyebrows furrowed with genuine curiosity.

“No,” Theodore shrugged. “Harry’s an exceptional publicist. He’s smart and talented and dedicated. He takes his work seriously and fights for his clients, and even when we were personally at our worst, he never abandoned me professionally. So no I don’t mind when he stays up until midnight arguing with people in LA and takes phone calls during dates, because he’d do it for me if I was in trouble. And I appreciate that. He lets me be who I am, and how can I give him any less?”

Dr. Coltrain considered this a moment before the door was open, and Harry stood uncertainly in the doorway, flushed and disheveled. “What do you need Theodore for this conference call too?”

“I…actually,” Harry laughed uncomfortably, scratching the back of his neck.

Theodore’s eyebrows furrowed, sitting up straighter and eyeing Harry with concern. This wasn’t normal behavior, this was an emergency and seeing as he refused to meet Theodore’s eyes, this was _Theodore’s_ emergency. But lack drugs and parties and questionable behaviors that he couldn’t quite remember, Theodore couldn’t think of a single thing he’d done to warrant this kind of alarm let alone Maggie Gallagher’s attention.

“Yes, I need you. We have to go.”

“You have to go?” Dr. Coltrain repeated in alarm.

“Why?” Theodore drawled in confusion already rising to his feet.

“I’m really sorry about this doc, but it’s an absolute emergency. We have to go now. Rosie’s calling Preston and Jesse.”

“Jesse _Godfrey_?” Theodore demanded in disbelief. “It’s that serious.”

“Teddy,” Harry said tersely, already seeming to vibrate with frustration. He opened his mouth and closed it again, brows dipping and rising again. Shaking his head slightly, Harry admitted uncertainly, “I don’t even know what to tell you except I’m going to bury Maggie Gallagher six feet under while she’s still breathing.”

Theodore’s mouth fell open in surprise. He nodded jerkily having never heard him confess to such uncertainty before. “I…thank you for seeing us, Dr. Coltrain, but we really have to go now,” Theodore insisted, allowing a deeply shaken Harry to guide him out of the door though everything in him wanted to run away.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to happen yesterday, but I was basically dying. So I'm giving you chapters today.


	52. "The Heat" by The Score

**The Unmasked (@UnmaskedMagUK)**

Keep an eye out for tomorrow’s magazine and the breaking story about one of the world’s favorite young superstars…

 

**Patrick Gallagher (@StPatty_)**

@CharlieBeck @Salem_Daiki What is even happening here? Why am I related to Satan? Do you know anything about this?

 

**Salem Petrov (@Salem_Daiki)**

@StPatty_ @CharlieBeck I have an idea

 

**Text message from Jesse Godfrey**

**Jesse Godfrey:** It’s not often I’m included in client discussions

**Jesse Godfrey:** Should I be concerned?

**Harry:** Something tells me you’re already concerned.

**Jesse Godfrey:** When I fired Lysa she said something crazy

**Harry:** What’s ur eta?

**Jesse Godfrey:** It better not be true

**Harry:** I’ll c u at my office

 

**Text message from Preston**

**Preston:** Do you know what this is about?

**Theodore:** Why do you think Id tell you?

**Preston:** Do you know?

**Theodore:** Didn’t Harry tell you?

**Preston:** No.

**Theodore:** Then even if I knew I wouldn’t tell you

 

**Tinhat Maveratics WhatsApp Chat**

**hensley9804:** I’m deffo down with Teddy Langston being Theodore Maverick’s personal profile

**janleemav** : I’m also down with admitting I believe that Harry and Theodore are dating. I’m not sure about the marriage angle, but since the Breakers know a crazy amount about B4’s team and swear Rosie Ireland is secretly dating/living with Benji Irving, which leaves Harry homeless except his cats keep showing up in Mav’s insta and Mav’s dogs keep showing up in Harry’s.

**54_lylanecolt:** They went to Rome together apparently…Maverick posted insta pics of Rome…Harry posted insta pics of Rome…Teddy Langston waxed poetic about Rome on twitter. I mean they’re dfinitely dating but do you think they’ll come out?

**774nana:** No. Not any time soon. He just planned a world tour that also includes Russian tour dates. No way does he come out in the next two years. Married or not there’s no reason for him to come out.

**hensley9804:** But he’s also not pretending to date anyone else rn.

**janleemav:** That does not mean he’s planning on coming out and we all need to be prepared for that. He might be uncomfortable coming out or just not want to. And that’s his right and that’s okay. Okay?

**sassysavvy:** Being gay is nothing to be ashamed of.

**54_lylanecolt:** There u go missing the point…

* * *

Harry’s office didn’t technically have ‘after hours’. Most of their clientele were on different time zones with the publicists that worked in the office responding as well. Rosie had told Theodore that finding publicists sleeping on the sofas or cuddled under afghans in the rolling chairs, feet propped up on their desks and landlines in their laps wasn’t uncommon. They dimmed the lights and allowed the building to be on power saving mode but walking in the front door already saw two of the interns sitting cross-legged on the floor sharing a fleece blanket, laptops open in their laps, and mugs of coffee in hand.

They looked up guiltily at Harry’s entrance as he ushered Theodore through the door. Their alarm faded when Theodore winked at them. Harry only nodded and nudged Theodore deeper into the stark, spacious office towards the well-lit conference room that caused a minor seizure in Theodore.

Through the windows, Theodore could see Rosie in a pair of Chewbacca slippers, an old Breaking Fourth concert t-shirt, and ripped blue jeans beneath a fleece dressing gown. Beside her was Sully in his alabaster glory sipping tea from a porcelain cup and reading a newspaper while ignoring the bemused look of Jamie Dutch. Jamie sat at the head of the table like the mediator between two warring nations, eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he played a game on his phone clad in stained riding clothes and hair tied up in a tiny man bun.

Across from them were the real threats.

Preston had become a nonissue since Harry put him in check with the abrupt and unequivocal dismissal of Lysa Thomas over a year earlier. Now he looked on the verge of an emotional breakdown either due to the mysterious nature of the situation or Jesse Godfrey’s presence at the meeting. After all, Jesse Godfrey rarely ever deigned to leave the United States and even less often saw his clients exclusively. Part of his presence had likely been influenced by Theodore’s stature, but most came from his familiarity with Harry, which Harry insisted was solely professional though their frequent international games of Words With Friends made that appear unlikely.

Godfrey leaned on the back two legs of the chair, hands laced over his abdomen and looked up upon their arrival. His chair fell back to the floor with a muffled thump.

Theodore stalled in the doorway.

Harry shut the door behind him and placed two hands on Theodore’s hips guiding him further into the room.

Reluctantly, Theodore sat down opposite Jamie Dutch who smiled at him easily and offered a jaunty wave that Theodore felt too weak to return. He longed for a drink or a hit or a natural disaster to eject him from the conversation. His hands shook, foot tapping against the leg beneath the table. Harry rested a hand over Theodore’s for a moment as he sat down beside Rosie before pulling back and unbuttoning his suit jacket.

“Now that we’re all here…” Godfrey sighed impatiently, eyes narrowing on Rosie and Sully. “What is this about?”

“Maggie Gallagher,” Rosie stated plain and clear. “I imagine I did address this in the email, correct?”

“I stopped reading them after I realized this was so explosive I had to leave Los Angeles for London.” Godfrey admitted without even a shred of patience to extend to Rosie. She, for her part, seemed unconcerned by his obvious ire, but Harry clearly bristled beneath terse tone. “Enlighten me. Enlighten us.”

Rosie shared a glance with Sully before nodding. She looked to Jamie who opened the file folder he rested his interlaced hands on, sliding it across the table towards Preston. The man took one look at its contents and blanched bone white. His coloring quickly darkened to a sickly green as he refused to spare it another glance, passing the folder to Godfrey to examine, eyes wide with fear, hands covering his mouth, and breathing suddenly shallow. Godfrey took a glance at it before fury flashed across his face before swiftly turning to stone. His eyes roved between Harry and Theodore, slapping a hand on the file.

“Have you seen this?” Godfrey demanded tersely.

“I haven’t,” Theodore replied.

Wordlessly, Godfrey slid the folder over to him, eyes landing heavily on Harry. His own gaze remained dispassionate but expectant. “ _You_?” Godfrey demanded in a whisper, sounding as though he’d been betrayed. “You?   I never expected it of you to let it get this far.”

Theodore didn’t have a moment to frown in confusion. His first glance of the folder’s contents was of a grainy, indistinct photograph of him kissing Harry through a black cab window. He had a moment of disbelief flit through him at the invasion of privacy at one of his lowest points since leaving rehab before tracing over the rest of the pictures. Admittedly better quality—Harry’s masculinity certainly couldn’t be debated—but the details of their relationship more ambiguous. And there at the top, a headline that made his heart stop and twisted his world on its head: _The ambiguous love life of Theodore Maverick._

Gritting his teeth, Theodore set down the folder and closed it.

“You’re sleeping with my client,” Godfrey continued. “ _Your_ client. I can’t even communicate how unprofessional that is. You’re a publicist sleeping with your celebrity client while representing him. How could you let this get so out of control? I could sue you for this.”

“And admit to the world in a public court case that you’re biggest money-maker has been engaging in a four-year love affair with a man?” Harry challenged coolly, leaning back in his seat with a droll smirk. “I dare you. Go on do it.”

“You think you’ve called my bluff?” Godfrey demanded with barely controlled fury. “You think I won’t? These pictures are enough of an admittance.”

“These pictures,” Harry scoffed, “are low quality, distant, or inconclusive.”

“Pictures speak a thousand words,” Preston argued in a tense voice.

“Pictures are pictures. Words are words.” Rosie returned evenly. “Nothing more than that. And these pictures are shitty pictures, and the words lies and conjecture. Whether Harry’s having a relationship with Theodore or not is completely irrelevant. These are awful pictures that offer a weak circumstantial evidence and supported by a weak narrative designed to keep Maggie from being sued. What we _know_ is less a concern than what we can _prove_. And on that we have the upper hand. Let’s not jump ship yet, douchecanoe.”

Harry sighed and rolled his eyes.

Theodore was mostly amused. Leave it to Rosie to insult guests during business meetings.

“Is this how you conduct business now?” Godfrey demanded indignantly of Harry, shaking his head.

“You insulted her first,” Jamie pointed out while Sully nodded sagely.

“This can’t be fixed!” Preston exploded in a shrilly voice, eyes wide and bloodshot, the fear having taken him far away from rationality into a scary in-between world where the rest of them dared not to follow. Theodore’s eyebrows raise, gazing at his manager consideringly. “We can’t fix this! Can’t lie our way out of this! Grainy or not, poor quality or not, that’s clearly Theodore kissing a man. That’s clearly him out shopping with another man! It’s not suggestion at this point! That’s evidence.”

Theodore agreed, sinking feeling rising in him.

“It’s not,” Harry said calmly.

“Don’t be arrogant,” Godfrey warned.

“Who’s being arrogant?” Harry replied without even a single glimmer of uncertainty from him. “There’s no proof, no faces, and no names because Maggie’s not that stupid. Another lawsuit would end her magazine before it even got off the ground. We’re looking at thirty-six hours minimum before this story from a relatively unknown magazine picks up steam. It’ll start grassroots with the fandom and be picked up by larger gossip sites once fans do most of the work in researching parties involved. That’s plenty of time to spin our own story.”

“You’re delusional.” Godfrey argued, slapping his palm down on the table. Theodore winced while Rosie glared at him malevolently; looking so tired she was mere seconds from snoozing atop the table like a human kitten. “There’s one option: Theodore comes out before the story breaks.”

Rosie scoffed and spoke for Harry, “Impossible and reckless.”

Harry nodded in agreement while Theodore’s mind churned over the possibilities and tried to fight through the gut-wrenching fear holding him captive and frozen.

“Our _only_ option.”

“That’s a terrible option,” Preston lamented, flinching when Godfrey glared at him.

“It’s _not_ an option,” Harry stated plainly with a dismissive shrug. “Not that I’m not capable of planning a coming out in that timeframe, but I won’t do it. It’s rushed and ridiculous and makes us look like we think we’re guilty of a crime. We’re not. If we can do this the right way, we should.”

“We can’t,” Godfrey stressed, “let’s not make a bigger mess of this trying to be a hero.”

“Stop talking before I cut your tongue out,” Rosie ordered bleakly.

“It doesn’t look possible,” Theodore cut in, chest heaving and breathing fast like he’d been running a marathon rather than listening to a bunch of PR professionals debate his future. “It looks like there’s nothing I can do to combat this gross breach of my privacy. What’s the alternative?”

“Are you crazy?” Godfrey whirled on him. “We can’t go around muddying the waters in an already murky swamp.”

“Calm your tits,” Rosie stated calmly with a long-suffering sigh. “Men are so dramatic. Rushing into situations is always what gets your sex in trouble.”

Sully nodded his agreement.

“Are you ready to come out?” Harry inquired suddenly.

His words killed all conversation in the room, slicing right through the tension. It was a question Theodore imagined most people never got asked at all. Especially not in this industry where the best answer was usually the one that derived the most income and broke the least amount of laws. Ethics rarely ever entered the equation if they were acknowledged as necessary at all.

Theodore considered the question in its entirety.

Was he ready to come out?

The short answer was yes and no.

He made no secret of his self-hating habits years earlier where he’d gotten high to have sex with women and then resorted to alcohol to punish himself for the weakness and inability to love the fairer sex. While he’d accepted that he was gay, he hadn’t fully accepted—or wanted to accept—the full scope of what that meant to his life and future. Wanting a woman had been wanting things to be easy, to date openly and unreservedly, to live his life the way he always had: before an audience and cameras.

But that was four years ago.

Theodore’s ability to temper needs with wants and desires from necessities kept him grounded and sane in Hollywood. Even now knowing that he could keep both Harry and his relatively uncomplicated life as a popstar and public figure allowed him to remove the immediate and obvious pressures from consideration.

Harry didn’t need to live his life out in front of the cameras, didn’t consider discretion the same as repression or hiding. Not wanting to parade his love life in front of the cameras—regardless of the reason—didn’t reflect as internalized homophobia or an aversion to coming out to Harry. Theodore had come out to all the people in his life who mattered. And those who weren’t close to him very likely suspected given the amount of time they spent together. Theodore knew a good portion of his fans had caught on as well sparking an internal debate that volleyed back and forth between his sexual orientation and whether or not they had the right to speculate on it.

It didn’t feel like coming out to him, but rather being bold and unreserved, a lifestyle Harry didn’t prefer to live anyway. Aside from feeling as if he’d already come out as much as it applied to Theodore Langston rather than Maverick, Theodore didn’t want to deal with the fallout of being exposed. For the first time in his life, he’d be performing concerts in Russia, in South Africa, in places where homosexuality was frowned upon if not outright illegal. Theodore didn’t want his life to become difficult, didn’t want to be a role model, didn’t want the pressures of what publicly proclaiming his relationship with a man would represent.

“I’m ready,” Theodore manage to say finally before shaking his head and looking over to meet Harry’s eyes. “But I don’t want to. Not yet and not now and certainly not this way. We deserve more than that of each other.”

Harry’s expression softened, and he offered a single terse nod.

“I understand. We can do that.”

“You understand?” Godfrey exclaimed shrilly.

“We can’t do _anything,_ ” Preston insisted, dumbfounded and apparently astounded by Harry’s seemingly blasé attitude.

Then, Theodore’s management seemed to forget that while Godfrey dealt with his company primarily and Preston dealt with Theodore alone. Harry, Rosie, and Sully handled situations like this every day. And when it came to coming outs, they probably had more experience than anyone in Hollywood. Between Charlie, Cris, and Bailey, Harry had spent the last several years crafting complex webs of planning and scheming for their own public entrants in gay society.

Of all the people to be skeptical of, they were not the ones.

If Harry said something could be done, then it could be. Theodore trusted him fully both personally and professionally. And Rosie was a realist as well as Harry’s business partner. If she thought he was exchanging a cow for magic beans, then she would say something in company or otherwise. That she kept silent spoke volumes about how she pictured this situation going and not all of her options ended in coming out.

“Do you have a way?” Theodore pressed for his manager’s benefit.

“You don’t want to come out?” Harry inquired, not twisting Theodore’s arm but in genuine curiosity.

“I’m not scared anymore. Like I was when we met, and knowing you’d stand beside me through the whole process, well, it’s relieving. But I want a few more years to be a performer. To work with people all around the world and tour all around the world and do as I please without having my motives dissected by the world. I love you and I want us to build a life together, but we’re already doing that. And holding hands on a public street before paparazzi won’t change who we are.”

Harry held his gaze for a moment, a warmth and pride lurking in their depths. Slowly, he nodded his head in agreement and reached across the table to grip Theodore’s hand in his own. He nodded his head.

“Okay,” Harry agreed lightly, “then, yes, I have a way.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Jesse Godfrey already knew about Harry and Theodore, but he wasn't expecting the relationship to be this serious or to attract as much notice as it has and that's where his anger about the situation stems from.


	53. "Repercussions" by Bea Miller

**Text message to Violet**

**Violet:** Im not sleepinganymroe

**Violet:** I need tea.

**Harry:** Did you have tea yet?

**Violet:** Yes.

**Violet:** What’s up?

**Harry:** I need a favor.

**Harry:** Well, Teddy needs a favor

**Violet:** What’s Teddy need?

**Harry:** How opposed are you to cutting your hair?

 

To: haroldbsterling@sterlingandireland.co.uk

From: jesse.godfrey@godfreygroup.com

Subject: Maverick and Unmasked

Not that I don’t have faith in your abilities to manipulate the news but let me make it extremely clear to you that if you can’t manage to clean up the mess that you made, I’ll sue you for breach of contract and gross misconduct. Even if I get no money from it, I’ll have the satisfaction. What you did was extremely unprofessional and not telling me is completely indefensible.

Jesse Godfrey

CEO, The Godfrey Group

 

**The Unmasked (@UnmaskedMagUK)**

Take a look at our newest issue of The Unmasked Mag with a special feature on @MaverickOfficial

**The ambiguous love life of Theodore Maverick**

It’s been over teen years since the world was first introduced to the adorable antics of Theodore Maverick. His start on Disney Channel quickly lit the fires of a fame that didn’t manage to burn out even in his tumultuous transition from Disney starlet to fully-fledged adult celebrity. In that time he’s been seen dating everyone from fellow Disney stars, high fashion supermodels, acclaimed actresses, award-winning singers, and even a couple reality television stars; once even Olympic-medal skier, Cassandra Winthrop until 2016. Despite people in his industry being plagued by a barrage rumors about their love life ranging from BDSM fetishes to clandestine gay lovers, Maverick seems to have been the one celebrity above them all, his Casanova reputation and laundry list of ex-girlfriends with nothing but awful things to say about him making rumors excessive. In 2016 Maverick confirmed he had a long-term lover, a relationship he would consequently wrote three albums about without ever releasing a name, pictures, or information about. He was seen with a number of women within that time all of which he later confirmed to be friendships over embellished by the tabloids. The only story apparently not embellished was a brief fling with Ember Caraleigh who went on to claim she was having the popstars baby, later proven untrue by the singer’s team. His secretive relationship has garnered its share of rumors from the girl being a fan to the pair being married, including a grassroots assumption that this clandestine girlfriend is, in fact, a man. Recently uncovered suggest that this girlfriend is certainly more than meets the eye. We’d never speculate on the specifics of a celebrity’s relationship, but let us know what you think of snapshots of Maverick with a very familiar friend?

**Comments:**

**anonymous:** By ‘suggesting’ and putting the blame on us, do you really think no one sees what you’re doing? Really?

**k_t.** j: But this is Maggie Gallagher’s paper isn’t it? Seems like.

**therealrhonda:** Clandestine gay lovers…is this article a joke? It must be a joke, right?

**tkennedy97:** I see what you’re doing. If that is a man (a big IF), then you’re still outing someone. Just like you outed Arthur Bailey. This whole magazine should be ashamed of itself.

**CindersElla90210:** Recently surfaced photos my asss! I’ve been in this fandom for ages, like the dark web parts of the Maveratics fandom. No one saw those pics before you released them! Don’t be shady!

**10.10.20:** I can’t believe you’re doing this shit. Leave Maverick alone! Ffs when will Maggie Gallagher realize outing people in 2020 is NOT ok.

 

**Text message from Patrick**

**Patrick:** Maggie, I am literally ashamed to know you.

 

**Maverick (@MaverickOfficial)**

The music video for ‘Commitment’ drops tomorrow. I might actually drop dead of a panic attack.

 

**August, GA (@ThisAugustaGrl)**

@MaverickOfficial my body is ready…O.O

 

**Maverick (@MaverickOfficial)**

@ThisAugustGrl that makes one of us x_x

 

**YouTube Channel, Real Talk Daily: Maverick’s ‘Commitment’**

**Mckinley:** So the day has finally come, Maverick’s next single ‘Commitment’ off his album _Stress Fractures_ drops tomorrow, and I am so excited. I’ve been OD’ing on this song all day.

**Karen:** I have high expectations for this music video, not gonna lie. The song was so incredible that I can only hope the music video is as well. That being said, it’s Maverick and he’s never dropped the ball on a music video since his early days in the business. It’s going to be great. He’s apparently throwing a watch-party with some of his close friends in London including Elena Valence who confirmed this weekend she is planning to go on tour with him during the North American leg of his world tour.

**Mckinley:** I feel like Maverick just never stops working even when he wasn’t releasing a big studio album he released an EP, performed, and filmed a movie. It’s been pretty crazy. His tour schedule was just released and includes an insane amount of travel including four tour dates in Russia, which is pretty much unheard of.

**Karen:** You’re such a superfan that I just have to ask: have you heard the lastest dish dropped by Unmasked Magazine, which for those of you at home who don’t know, is a UK-exclusive tabloid.

**Mckinley:** I have. They released some photos of Maverick kissing someone in a car and walking around a grocery store and insinuated the two are the same people and the person he’s kissing is a man. Whether it is or not doesn’t actually matter to me, we should be beyond outing people. It’s a huge invasion of privacy anyway, and I don’t feel comfortable wading into the debate. Those photos never should have been taken, never should have been released, man or otherwise, Maverick’s made his intention to keep his relationship private very clear and it’s time the press started respecting that.

 

**Tumblr Post: ragincajunmaveratic**

**Is it a man or not?**

I wasn’t going to wade into the debate. I’m still not. I’m here to say that whether or not it is we need to acknowledge that a) Maverick didn’t want his relationship publicized, and b) outing people is a sign of moral bankruptcy. This is a nonissue. We should be outraged not trying to figure out if it’s a man.

#maveratics #maveraticsunite #respect for lgbt celebs #this was a gross invasion of privacy

**committed2maverick**

Maverick is a public figure. I don’t agree with outing people but now that it’s out there, I don’t think people should be discouraged from discussion. It’s one thing to say we shouldn’t out people and another to say he didn’t want his relationship public. That’s not his decision. He has no control over that.

#maveratics #maveraticsunite #also respects for lgbt people #but was it really an invasion?

**maveraticsanonymous**

But his partner/girlfriend/significant other should have control over that. If the other person isn’t famous, don’t they deserve privacy? Or are we throwing our hands up now and saying they forfeit that right when they fall in love with someone famous? We don’t say that about famous people’s kids.

#maveratics #maveraticsunite #it was def an invasion #unmasked should be ashamed

**MaveraticsUnite294**

And assuming he is gay, then publishing photographs that hint at his sexuality is a breach of etiquette protecting people, famous or not, from being outed.

#maveratics #maveraticsunite #let’s not be ridiculous #there’s no gray area here, it’s not ok

**mydarlingmaverick**

That’s what it comes down to, those pictures should not have been released. I know people on tumblr with photos of Maverick and his significant other that never post them because it’s an invasion of privacy. I live in London. I work at Tesco. I was there that day. Unmasked never should have published those photographs full stop, end of discussion.

#maveratics #maveraticsunite #unmasked magazine should be sued #how dare they speculate like this #try to have a soul

**commitmentissuesmaveratics**

^^^^^ this though

#maveratics #maveraticsunite #speak the truth #boycott unmasked magazine

 

**Text message from Rosie**

**Rosie:** Have you seen Tumblr?

**Harry:** Have you seen Twitter?

**Rosie:** Yeah they’re still stuck on male or female? That’s why I asked about Tumblr

**Rosie:** Tumblr has moved on

**Harry:** Tumblr drives me crazy but it doesn’t totally surprise me they’ve moved onto the moral debate.

**Rosie:** Aren’t they cuties?

**Harry:** Adorable.

 

**Group MMS: Theodore, Elena, Alina, Santi**

**Alina:** Who’s all coming to your party.

**Elena:** I can stay at your place, right?

**Elena:** I mean I can get a hotel room for me and Kala, but can I stay with you?

**Elena:** That’s more polite right?

**Santi:** Lols nice of your to invite yourself over like that.

**Alina:** Because is Shah is coming, then I’m not.

**Alina:** Correction: if shah is coming then I require alcohol and the banning of that bitch Daisy.

**Theodore:** He’s not even dating Daisy.

**Alina:** That makes me feel awesome that he threw me away to screw some whore

**Santi:** Ummmmmmmmm can we not talk about it anymore?

**Theodore:** Elena you can stay.

**Theodore:** Alina…try to just…Try.

 

**Text message from Dido Lynn**

**Dido Lynn:** The kids are bothering me

**Dido Lynn:** But I assume you’re ok. With that disgusting article from Unmasked.

**Theodore:** I’m fine. A little stressed but ok

**Theodore:** Harry’s people knew it was coming.

**Dido Lynn:** I trust your extremely over prepared boyfriend has a plan.

**Theodore:** Lmao of course.

 

**Benton’s Pub (@BentonsPubUK)**

Our Hendon location will be closed 11-2 tomorrow for a private party and will reopen at 3 for dinner. We apologize for any inconvenience.

 

**Maverick and Unmasked Maverick: Unfounded Instigations**

UK tabloid, Unmasked Magazine, recently released a story regarding popstar, Maverick, insinuating his current four-year relationship may well be with a man. Photographs released by the magazine show the popstar kissing a person with short hair through the window of a car and later alleged the same person—most definitely a man—seen grocery shopping with him was the popstar’s longtime lover. While fans have pushed back against the magazine’s attempt to assume Maverick’s sexual orientation calling the action “a sign of moral bankruptcy” and “a gross breach of journalistic ethics”, the story continues to gain speed especially with Maverick’s single, ‘Commitment’ dropping from his fifth studio album, _Stress Fractures,_ tomorrow. Maverick himself has been reached for comment from other tabloid, his representative releasing a statement on his behalf. “Maverick has been made aware of the article and insinuations. However in light of their recent history and obvious disregard for the privacy he requested be extended to his partner, he sees no reason to engage this allegation whatsoever. Their unfounded insinuations are vague at best and negligent at worse with no concern for moral decency or ethical behavior. It’s nothing unexpected from Unmasked Magazine but also nothing he sees fit to concern himself with.” The statement prompted international critic of the tabloid whose refused comment at this time.

 

**Maverick (@MaverickOfficial)**

Holy fuck it’s happening…

* * *

The crowd made Harry nervous. The celebrities even more so. Renting out Benton’s Pub had been a strategic part on Theodore’s to try and make Harry more comfortable, but instead Harry had regressed and resorted to hiding in the stockroom between cartons of fresh fruit for the bar and a bag of what looked like rhubarb but couldn’t possible be. Who needed that much rhubarb? A pint of ice cream Maisie had purchased for him from the off-license across the street on her break was open and clenched between his upturned knees, Wu Zetian, his Rottweiler/Husky mix sprawled beneath his legs, pressing her cold, wet nose against his ankle.

Hiding was ridiculous, he _knew_ all of the people who’d been invited to this party. They’d spent time in his house, eaten his food, and critiqued his poor choice in Korean dramas, but Harry still didn’t feel comfortable being around them in a setting that didn’t rely on his abilities as a publicist. When the time came for this stunt, he’d pull himself together and walk out of the stockroom with utter confidence, but right now, hiding seemed a better idea even with Theodore spamming his phone to find out where he’d run off to.

When his phone pinged again, Harry sighed and pulled it out of his pocket. He shoveled a spoonful of Ben & Jerry’s Phish Food into his mouth and crooked an eyebrow at the message on screen. Theodore had stopped texting words, sending a serious of emojis like he was daring Harry to ask what they meant. The actual _words_ had come from Rosie.

**Rosie:** Ur hubby is trying to be a good sport

**Rosie:** But ur freaking him out.

**Rosie:** And me too.

**Rosie:** Jamie and Sully want to know if u can handle this. I mean I know u can but don’t make me send in the big guns.

Harry wondered what exactly ‘the big guns’ entailed. He also wondered what exactly about this situation had prompted to literally hide in the closet. Like he could avoid the party by physically removing himself from it without leaving the building. He should be out there not making Theodore worry about him while he made himself into a human turtle in a room designed for groceries and beer bottles.

If only he could get a handle on exactly what the issue was.

The moment he’d stepped into the room, Harry had wanted to disappear. Leaving the pub wasn’t even an option, not when Theodore had spent all week vacillating between excited, proud, and nervous about the release of the music video. And likely worried about Harry’s reaction to the whole overall everything. He’d gotten used to Theodore’s showmanship meaning he was driven to put every detail about their personal life into poetic lyrics the public dissected with fervor, but Theodore still continued to believe that one day Harry would freak out and leave without a word.

His abandonment issues plagued him constantly, but Harry couldn’t blame him. He’d never leave without a word, but it was becoming painfully clear that for all Harry’s bravado of acceptance with Theodore’s highly publicized persona, he was not okay with this.

Tilting his head back against the wall, Harry pressed a hand to his chest, fingers brushing lightly along the delicate skin of his throat. He didn’t need to feel his pulse thudding against his skin to know his heart was racing in his chest. Panic. He was panicking. Whimpering quietly, Wu Zetian sat up, knocking his ice cream onto the floor and scrambled into his lap, licking his face as he tried to force himself to calm down.

A knock at the door startled him, generating another jolt in the pulse he’d only just managed to calm slightly.

Harry cracked his eyes open, eyes on the worn wooden door. His trembling hand stroked over the dog’s coarse fur. From outside, he could hear two people arguing harshly before another knock came, this one less tentative and more demanding like the person had no intention of going without getting what they’d come for.

“Potter, you decent?”

His lips curled up in a smile at the sound of Rosie’s snarky tone.

“That’s what you call the big guns?”

The knob turned, and Rosie poked her head in with a bright smile, giving no indication she saw anything at all out of place with him. But Rosie was sharp and noticed everything even if she never said a word. She’d strolled into the watch party looking every inch the professional in a pair of Loubatin heels that Benji had likely bought for her, a long-sleeved lace cocktail dress, and her mane of red hair tumbling over her shoulders. Given Benji’s jeans, blazer, and sneaker combo, Rosie garnered far more attention than her famous boyfriend until Santi had snagged him into a conversation with Dominic Kinsey and Chesapeake Maro.

By the time all four members of Breaking Fourth had shown up accompanied by their significant others, Harry had been on overload and retreated to the storeroom.

In response to his question, Rosie pushed the door open wider to admit Irial. Harry’s expression hardened, and neither Rosie nor Irial mentioned it. She kicked off her high heels to sit close beside him, legs thrown over his and ignoring how expensive the dress likely was to let the dog crawl into her lap and lick her face until she drew back, disliking the taste of Rosie’s makeup.

Irial closed the door behind him and sat down across the room from them, legs crossed.

“Rosie tells me you got married,” Irial started uncertainly. Harry shrugged his shoulders, scratching the back of his neck and reaching out to right his pint of ice cream. Without looking at Irial, he placed the top on the half-eaten pint of melting ice cream not willing to catch Irial’s eyes. He could feel his friend’s gaze remaining firm and steady on his face as Harry continued to avoid him. “You didn’t tell me.”

“I know,” Harry agreed, scratching the back of neck and looking to Rosie.

She sighed tiredly. “Can you two trying being big boys for five minutes? Is that too much to ask? We’re not eighteen anymore. This is completely unnecessary in so many ways. We’ve moved beyond not answering phone calls and me insulting your boyfriend via phone calls because you saw him kissing some tween celebrity on an award show. Can we stop… _this_?” Rosie demanded with exasperation. Irial grimaced until Rosie turned her head towards Harry. She pinched his cheek until he yelped. “You too, douchecanoe.”

“I just don’t get you.” Irial exploded after a moment.

Harry looked up at him blankly.

“Like what do you think this seventh year style regression actually is? You’re hiding in a closet, Potter. An actual, literal closet.”

Rosie huffed while Harry cocked his head and studied Irial like he’d spoken in a foreign tongue. “Honestly, Iri, this isn’t a _closet_. It’s a storeroom. You worked at…well Starbucks not a restaurant in the traditional sense. But we had a storeroom at Starbucks.” She paused and frowned, turning to Harry and resting her chin on his shoulder. “Didn’t we?”

“We did,” Harry agreed, gaze not moving from Irial. “This is why we don’t talk anymore. This is why the only time we hangout is when you cause drama that I have to pull strings to make disappear. I mean do you even know what it’s like being friends with you? Our whole post-university friendship has revolved around cleaning up messes you and your husband willingly made knowing that I wouldn’t leave you to drown alone. But I thought about it. I considered it. The only reason I _didn’t_ is because of Rosie and your mother. But what we have isn’t a friendship, it’s a parasitic relationship that you constantly try to turn into a social justice mission. Newsflash: you’re gay and married to a pansexual in a boyband. You’re not a transgender gay Muslim with AIDs from Rwanda. The whole world is not against you. And if you kick up dirt, you should have to handle the consequences not _me_.”

“I think we’re getting a little off topic,” Rosie coughed into her palm, grimacing as she gazed between them.

“And I thought being in the same situation as Crispin and me would have shaken you out of that capitalistic publicist mentality that all celebrities are worth is money. But how much can you really love your _husband_ ,” he spat the word venomously, “when you’re encouraging—when you’re _helping_ —him hide in the closet. Like kids need it reinforced that homosexuality is such a stain on their character that one of the biggest celebrities in the world had to come up with an elaborate hoax to avoid coming out!”

“Irial!” Rosie hissed, eyes flashing with warning.

They’d really just moved beyond that.

If Rosie had brought Irial in to have this fight to snap him out of his funk, she’d certainly succeeded. What she probably hadn’t been prepared for was just how much bitterness and anger lay beneath the cracked foundation of their friendship, bubbling up between the cracks and waiting to implode. Harry hadn’t known either, but Irial had gone from uncomfortable to accusing in seconds.

“ _This_ is not about you. It’s not about every LGBT kid in the UK or Europe or America. This is about Theodore. And it’s about me. You think you’re messy and very public back and forth rollercoaster ride relationship with Cris did anyone any good? It got me fired. It created a public backlash against Breaking Fourth. People in B4’s fanbase got bullied online. LGBT kids were harassed. People in the press made fun of teenagers that only wanted to see someone supporting them. Were told by the media that speculating on the sexuality of famous people was inappropriate and wrong because—God forbid—a famous person feel uncomfortable with speculation. Everything goes until it comes to sexuality. You think you’re internal feud with Dissident made things _easier_? For _anyone_? I was the one reading Twitter and Tumblr and Facebook. I was the one seeing all the bullying. I was the one who saw how that subset fanbase got a public smackdown from Dissident every time they speculated about some shit you and Cris got up to. Representation’s only good if it’s constructive. What you and Cris did wasn’t for the LGBT community, wasn’t for his fans, wasn’t to set a precedent in the industry, it was for you. It would do both of us a favor if you stopped pretending otherwise.”

Irial reeled back like he’d been smacked before demanding, “You’re saying that’s _our_ fault?”

“I’m saying they wouldn’t have been attacked if you hadn’t given them ammunition. You gave them something you knew they couldn’t have and didn’t try to protect vulnerable fans when they received recriminations for _your_ actions.” Harry stated coolly.

Rosie hid her face behind her hands, eyes roving back and forth between the two from behind her fingers.

“Don’t come in here and make judgments about me and my life. Coming out is not always better. And Theodore and I don’t need the world to know we’re fucking to feel like we have validation. We love each other. We’re married. And we went through a lot to get here. Coming out for the world is bullshit. And being outed is no way to come out. You think I wouldn’t help him if he wanted to come out? Like I didn’t help you or Bailey or Charlie? Don’t be an asshole. You want to the LGBT community to be strong, then be a better role model, tell them to stop attacking each other, stop acting like the whole world is out to get them, stop being victims. I don’t need anyone to tell me who I am or that it’s ok to be me. Your demands of me are completely unrealistic. You and I are not the same. Cris and Teddy are not the same. And we don’t need the public, worldwide validation you need.”

Irial pressed his lips together and shook his head. “You think I need public validation that my relationship wasn’t fucked up?”

For a moment Harry hesitated before he sighed slightly and nodded, “Yes, I do. Everyone wants validation that they’re not fucked up. That’s why they come out. That’s why they walk in Pride Parades covered in glitter or go on reality tv shows about transitioning. They want validation and acceptance and get upset when everyone doesn’t give them that. But the problem is the world doesn’t actually have to accept you for who you are. It’s not the world’s job to give you validation. That’s on you. I don’t need validation. I need…” Harry trailed off, eyebrows furrowing and lips pursed.

Rosie studied him from the corner of her eye, nodding slightly. “You need to succeed,” she finished for him. “You’re not concerned about what people think of you. But you are concerned that you’ll fail. That you’ll fail Theodore and me and Sully and Jesse Godfrey. You’re afraid you’ll fuck this up for all of us, aren’t you?”

“I don’t…” Harry started hoarsely before the words died. All he could do was shake his head and look away quickly.

“I don’t need validation,” Irial argued weakly.

Harry looked up at him. “Yes, you do.”

“I don’t,” Irial insisted, tears welling in his eyes.

Only sighing, Harry didn’t let up. “Yes, you do.”

“I…I don’t,” Irial said, face twisting and hand rising to harshly wipe a tear from his eyes. In a whisper, he pressed, “I don’t. I can’t. There’s nothing wrong with who I am.”

“There’s not,” Harry agreed. “But you want the world to agree.”

Irial looked up at him then, startling vulnerability on his face.

“I might fail,” Harry admitted, nodding. “I might not be able to pull this off. I might ruin my husband’s reputation and allow Maggie Gallagher to out him to the world. That might happen. And the world doesn’t agree that there’s nothing wrong with who you are. Salem doesn’t bisexuals because he doesn’t trust them. Rosie thinks lesbians are too dramatic. I could never be a pansexual because I’m completely uncomfortable with the idea of a sex change. And Alina Rosen’s genderfluid but self-identifies as a gay man. The world doesn’t have to accept you for who you are. And that’s not really its job. You got me fired because you wanted Dissident to acknowledge your relationship, you wanted the fans who thought the idea was laughable to acknowledge your relationship. That was for your validation and nobody else’s. They didn’t have to accept you just because they knew. And they _don’t_. This is not my issue. It’s yours. I have my own, and they have nothing to do with institutionalized homophobia as standard industry business practice. I don’t care. Jesse Godfrey does, but you know what? So does Theodore. He doesn’t have to come out for the LGBT community or for his fans or for me. He has to come out for him and no one else.”

Irial stared at him for a moment before nodding. “I’m sorry I put you in that position,” he said hesitantly, coughing into his palm. Rosie fanned her eyes to dry her tears before they fell. “I just…I needed to be out. I needed to be able to love Crispin freely not matter what it meant for you or anybody. I didn’t trust you, and I should have.” He hesitated, meeting Harry’s eyes before asking, “Was there a plan?”

“Of course there was a plan, Iri!” Harry retorted in disbelief.

Rosie laughed and rose to her feet. She tugged Harry up beside her. “Aw, fam, group hug!”

They groaned in annoyance but threw their arms around each other, hugging it out. Harry met Irial’s eyes over Rosie’s head, and they smiled at each other tentatively, letting the bitterness recede. Irial’s eyes shifted and he scoffed.

“Potter child, your dog’s eating chocolate ice cream.”

“No, puppy! No!” Harry broke away from the hug to yank his dog away from where he’d chewed off the top of the ice cream pint to lick up the ice cream inside.

“We ready?” Asked Rosie, pointing from Irial to Harry and back again. They exchanged glances across the room before pasting on smiles. Rosie interlocked her hands behind her back and offered smile. “Good, we have a stunt to stage.”

She clapped her hands together and opened the door, letting Wu Zetian trot out first, Irial and Harry following behind the kittens.

People nodded at Harry where they stood with glasses of liquor in hand, clustered in groups and chatting over the glowing backlight of the mobile phone screens. Beverly Dixon, despite being almost three months pregnant, stood behind the bar between Maisie and Denise Potter while Nick Sanderson. Salem sat on the bar with Bailey leaning between his legs and laughing at whatever nonsensical thing Cris Emerson had said while his sister and Hollis looked scandalized.

Theodore stood hiding behind a glass of what Harry hoped was Coke without anything extra added. Marley, Elena, and Alina exchanged words while Johanna and Crystal shared twin looks of horror while Violet hid her smile by taking a sip of beer.

Violet looked better every time Harry saw her. She’d dropped too much weight during her addiction to weight loss pills but had filled out during her stint living with his father and Samantha. She looked good, looked happy, and though she’d been hesitant to lighten her hair color to resemble his let alone cut it to chin-length, both the cut and color looked nice on her. It softened her face and yet made her look more mature than her usual long blonde locks. Her smile was almost happy, and whatever she said drew a laugh from Theodore who reached over to ruffle her hair. She swatted his hand away with a disgruntled expression.

Theodore looked over as Rosie threw her arm around Alina’s neck, pressing a kiss to her cheek. He met Harry’s eyes and smiled sweetly, grabbing his hand and tugging him closer. “Hey, everything okay?”

“Better,” Harry confessed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I had a minor freak out.”

Theodore nodded, “Oh I know. Rosie and I agreed she would take this one.”

“Did you know she was going to bring Irial to piss me off?”

“Hey,” Irial interrupted as he smiled cheerfully at Elena. She side-eyed him and scoffed while he grimaced and refocused his attention on Harry and Theodore. “We squashed our beef, haven’t we? Isn’t that what that was?”

“She neglected to tell me that part,” Theodore said lightly, beaming. “I’m glad you two are being mature.”

Harry looked at him askance. “Oh? So you and Cris Emerson going to start writing together and clubbing together.” He plucked the glass from Theodore’s hand and took a sip. Theodore crooked an eyebrow in amusement when Harry handed by the glass of coke, no alcohol back to him.

“No.” Theodore expressed with a shrug and a smile.

“You two are a match made in hell,” Irial said with a nod.

“I thought it would be easiest to do this before the video. Just a couple shots. Who’s posting them?”

Marley raised her hand and beamed cheerfully.

Harry nodded, “Then you’ll take the pics. Ready to pretend like you could get a date, Vi?”

“Shut the fuck up,” Violet said in disbelief, shaking her head and looking over at Theodore. “Isn’t he the worst? Is he like that with you?”

“Well we’re married, so he knows I could get a date,” Theodore teased, wincing when Violet smacked him in the shoulder. She shoved him towards the end of the bar, peering behind her at Harry and Rosie. Violet offered a thumbs up, turning Theodore’s head forcefully when he started to glance behind them.

Rosie put her hands in her pockets and leaned into Harry’s side. “We’re going to need a story about the grocery store.”

“You have an idea?”

Humming thoughtfully, Rosie raised two fingers to her mouth and whistled. Benji turned like a well-trained dog and raised his eyebrows. “Hey, boo, you wanna come out?”

Benji smiled, and Rosie turned to Harry offering her own thumbs-up.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Harry and Irial have finally had that long-awaited talk to mend their friendship. I mean this was just a lot of feelings and opinions that neither of them ever voiced to each other. Writing this scene was interesting. I'm pansexual, but I have very strong feelings regarding the current direction of the LGBTQ movement (feelings not generally reflected in this serious tbh). This is generally the point of these books where someone is coming out and/or has been outed. This book was never that. Teddy and Harry are very much the total opposite of Irial and Cris. These are two couples with two totally different worldviews that can coexist and can both be right.


	54. "Your Song" by Rita Ora

**Marley Afwa (@Marley_Afwa)**

Props to my boy @MaverickOfficial for releasing another great mv. What a cutie, huh? #commitment #maveratics

 

**Thompson (@Thomps_theTonks)**

@Marley_Afwa waaaaaaaa what the hell is that? Is anyone else seeing that?

 

**Krista (@kristalclarity)**

@Marley_Afwa @Thomps_theTonks is that chick with @MaverickOfficial? I’m not seeing that right am I? Who is that?

 

**Hannah Banana (@hannah_mayberry15)**

Where the Tumblr fam at? I need some research pronto on the chick at the party? Is that the girl?

 

**Tumblr Post: 11215katsrockz**

**The Girl From Marley’s Picture**

Ok the girl from the picture definitely matches the girl in the car in Unmasked Magazine’s pics. But I have no idea who she is, anyone?

**nananana4250**

I literally can’t find her anywhere. There’s not a shot good enough to do any actual research. No one’s dropped her name. No one tagged her. I can’t find anything about her who she is. She’s not famous. I don’t know. I don’t know.

**mickeythemav**

I think she might be the girl. How fucking awesome?

 

**YouTube Channel, Real Talk Daily: ‘Commitment’ Drops and Maverick’s Photographed**

**Mckinley:** So the music video for ‘Commitment’ finally dropped yesterday, and I am more certain than ever that maybe these rumors of Maverick being married might be true.

 **Daryl:** Because he shot a music video where he got married? It’s a bit of a stretch.

 **Mckinley:** Yeah, okay, but he’s always been very Taylor Swiftian about his MV Easter eggs. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that in the middle of all these rumors about him eloping in France, he goes and makes a music video about eloping in Mykonos, Greece.

 **Daryl:** In news with more evidence, Marley Afwa posted a picture of Elena Valence, Alina Rosen, Cris Emerson, and Benji Irving posing for a picture while Cheryl Atterberry photo-bombed. In the background of the photograph, you can see Maverick very affectionate with a girl that resembles the person he was kissing through a cab window seen in Unmasked Magazine.

 **Mckinley:** They’re adorable and no one knows who she is. Maverick declined to comment about the photograph, only saying that it was imperative to maintain privacy of people who didn’t ask to be put out there for the whole world’s consumption.

 

**Tinhat Maveratics WhatsApp Chat**

**janleemav:** It’s definitely not his girlfriend. Her name’s Violet Sterling. She’s his publicist’s half-sister. All of her accounts were scrubbed and went private about a week leading up to the party.

 **774nana:** I mean if I was dating my client. A sister’s a good thing to use to throw everyone off.

 **sassysavvy:** And this is just quietly going to go away for the sake of maintaining this alleged girlfriend’s privacy. It’s really all very impressive.

 **54_lylanecolt:** That’s Harry Benton-Sterling for you. You should talk to the Breakers some time. They’ve got stories about HBS for dayyyyys

 

To: margaretleona.gallagher@gmail.com; kcreissman@gmail.co.uk

Cc: rosemaryireland@sterlingandireland.co.uk; alexandersullivan@sterlingandireland.co.uk

From: haroldbsterling@sterlingandireland.co.uk

Subject: The Maverick Situation

Maggie,

Let me make this abundantly clear: you don’t want to go to war with me. I let you skirt the line of your belief that I can’t take you to court for breach of privacy by insinuating things in your trashy tabloid. Let me be really honest with you, if you pursue this, I will ruin your magazine. I will blacklist every person in your employ for work in Europe and most of the United States. And then, I will come personally for you, and Salem Petrov will help me do it. Secondly, your underling stalked my client and took pictures of him in private settings. If you don’t think I can turn stalking into a lawsuit, you’re delusional. This is Europe not America. After Princess Diana, we have laws for days about paparazzi stalking their subjects. Don’t make me take you to court. It’ll ruin you, and I’ll relish the opportunity.

Kind regards,

Harry Benton-Sterling

CEO, Sterling and Ireland PR

 

**Maverick (@MaverickOfficial)**

And I’m back in LA again. I do love the sunshine but fuck if I don’t hate this town.

 

**Maverick (@MaverickOfficial)**

On tonight with @BreakingFourth there’s going to be so much fandom happening. These poor poor studio people :P

* * *

Theodore leaned against the buffet table beside Harry, their squirming Chow mix cradled beneath his arm and a sweating smoked butterscotch frappuccino in his hand. Attila lay on his feet, head on his paws and side eyeing the quivering production assistant who had an obvious and pronounced fear of dogs. She yelped when Attila raised his head, scurrying away, and Theodore’s eyes followed her with amusement. He blew a curl out of his eyes and looked over at Harry.

Jamie Dutch, his actual publicist, stood with Washington and Rory while Harry cautioned Preston Duke from overreacting like Lysa. Jamie, it seemed, had quite the growing infatuation for Rory. What he’d yet to determine was whether or not Rory was into him as well. Sometimes it seemed like she was just tolerating his incessant flirting, but then there’d be a moment, a glimmer of interest as she looked up at him from beneath her eyelashes and offered a tentative smile. With a flicker, it would be gone as though it had never been.

But Theodore saw and knew.

“…in New York, right?”

“Hmm?” Theodore started, jolting back into the conversation and turning to look at Harry. He raised his eyebrows and took a long sick of his black coffee. “Did you ask me something?”

“Yes,” Harry said with a slight smile. “I asked if you wanted to start your tour in New York and end with it in Los Angeles. Since you don’t like ending your tours overseas.”

“That works,” Theodore said after a moment’s consideration. “Why? Did Olive ask? Just mask sure we don’t have Canada as its own tour leg. I can’t its miles and miles of wilderness roads. I get that it’ll be summer, but I can’t handle that kind of long-winded tour bus rides, you know?”

“I know,” Harry agreed fervently.

Theodore elbowed him with an uneasy smile. “I called to rebook our appointment with the counselor.”

“She’s letting us come back?” Harry said in disbelief, a smile spreading across his face. “I didn’t think she liked us.”

“What gave it away?” Theodore teased, nudging him with his hip.

“We’re almost ready to go on,” the production assistant said to them.

Theodore nodded and offered her a charming smile that had her blushing to the roots. He turned to Harry and Preston, setting his drink on the table and handing the puppy over to Harry. Grimacing, he pulled off his wedding ring, threading it through the silver chain he’d worn on his wrist before latching the chain around his neck.

Claire and Marceline scurried over, the former checking on his makeup while Marceline yanked a white beanie onto his head that matched with his black and white long-sleeved Balmain shirt, ripped black skinny jeans, and white Alexander McQueen sneakers that Harry had taken one look at before declaring the fact that Alexander McQueen even made white sneakers was pretentious. Theodore wasn’t certain he disagreed, but he rolled with the punches anyway. Attila huffed and sat up, looking between Harry and Theodore.

“You’re ready,” Claire said softly, patting him on the cheek.

“You look adorable,” Rory teased as she swept his frappuccino off the table and stared at it. “What does this taste like?”

“Weird? Like sugary smoked salmon.”

Rory nodded and set the cup down carefully. “That’s gross.”

“Seacrest wants to know if you can be in studio to do his radio show.”

“When?” Theodore inquired.

“Tomorrow. It starts at six am.”

Theodore nodded slowly, “It finishes at—what?—ten, right? That should work?”

Harry nodded in agreement. “We’re meeting with the broker at eleven. It’s cutting it close considering LA’s hellacious traffic, but it should work. I’ll just cut out early so one of us can try to be there on time.”

“Alright,” Theodore said with a long-suffering sigh. “That’ll work unfortunately.”

“You love Seacrest,” Rory teased, elbowing him in the ribs while Harry coughed into his fist to hide his laughter.

“Yeah, of course,” Theodore agreed, rolling his eyes. “He’s plastic! He looks like he’s plastic. Not, like, Michael Jackson bad but what else do I really expect from the man who gave us the Kardashians. He should be confined to a hundred years in hell for that alone.”

“Okay, back on stage with you,” Harry said, shoving him back out onto the sound stage to retake his original position on the sofa adjacent to the interviewer, Christian Teek. The stir in the crowd had him leaning forward to narrow his eyes on the assembled group of mixed fangirls who equally as preoccupied with gossiping as texting and Tweeting about getting to see him and Breaking Fourth at once.

Benji collapsed into the seat beside him, stealing what had originally been Micah’s seat with a cheeky smile and a wink at his friend that prompted a series of slaps before Cris wedged himself between them. They paused for only a moment before continuing the barrage on Cris who ducked and protected his head while Dominic reclined lazily at the end with a charming smile and a jaunty wave at the crowd, showing not the slightest sign of wanting to intervene on Cris’s behalf.

Christian paused on the stage, cocking his head and watching the boys duke it out a moment before shaking his head and hurrying to his seat as the production assistant counted down.

“Aaaaaaaaaand we’re back to…physical abuse?”

Benji and Micah placed their hands in their laps and smiled at Christian before breaking down into guffaws of laughter.

Cris straightened and grinned, “It’s because I’m the baby.”

“ _A_ baby,” Dominic clarified playfully. “Because you are a baby. Next time let the menfolk fight their own battles and don’t interfere.”

“Do you also count as the menfolk, because I have to protest,” Cris started.

Christian turned to Theodore. “Must make you long for being part of a band, huh?”

Theodore smiled and tilted his head, “Oh yeah…that’s…definitely what I was thinking. who wouldn’t long for physical abuse and age-related internal rankings. And hijinks, God I love hijinks.” He smiled awkwardly and shook his head slightly.

“This band doesn’t want you anyway,” Dominic cried dramatically, pretending to pout.

“Let me go grab my tissues,” Theodore said, starting to get up and yelping when Benji hauled him back onto the couch. He turned to look at Benji and scoffed, throwing his legs over Benji’s lap and returning his attention to Christian. “I pay people to drive me this kind of crazy for better reasons. I never considered boybanding it up. Now I remember why.”

“Hey!” Cris and Micah protested.

Benji nodded and reached over to pet Theodore’s hair. “It’s okay, little turtle.”

Theodore laughed and shook his head.

“So I imagine this means we won’t ever get to see a Maverick–Breaking Fourth tour?” Christian inquired cheekily.

“I think we can safely rule that out,” Theodore agreed, wincing when he received playful slaps from every member of the band. “Not that you guys aren’t awesome but I’m still not vibing after the Brit Awards like two years ago. Not gonna lie, I’m still pretty salty.”

“’Salty’ is that a thing people still say?” Micah inquired in disbelief, looking between Cris and Dominic.

They both shook their heads sadly while Theodore cocked his head and grinned.

“Speaking of major awards…” Christian winced and trailed off when Theodore’s smile grew.

He pointed a finger at Christian. “You know all I’m thinking about is _A Christmas Story_ right? ‘It’s a major award!’”

“Sometimes I forget you’re an actor too,” Christian said sadly.

“What’s _A Christmas Story_?” Micah leaned around Cris to whisper to Benji.

Benji looked at him askance. “Well I know what we’re all doing tonight.”

“You’re album _Stress Fractures_ missed the most recent cut off for Grammy Nominations but there’s already major talk of a Grammy Nomination for the album, you excited?”

Theodore held up his hands. “I mean I might be shooting myself in the foot here, a little bit, but I don’t get excited about Grammy Nominations. It’s not that it’s not a huge deal, because it is. But, honestly, the people who make these decisions are so conservative that sometimes I literally can’t for the life of me understand how some people won and others lost and some weren’t nominated at all. It’s insanity. I can’t make heads or tails of this process. Unless you’re Adele or Stevie Wonder or Andrea Bocelli, then there’s no guarantees so I’m curious and tentatively optimistic but I’m not confident by any stretch of the imagination.”

“Do you think you deserve a Grammy for the album?” Christian pressed.

Theodore’s eyes widened and he whistled trying to evade the question.

“Yes!” Breaking Fourth exploded in agreement while Theodore colored.

“I mean…look, I don’t know what albums are going to be released this year…”

“Look…” Cris Emerson inserted, “most people in pop write albums about falling in love or out of love or being cheated on or how hard it is to be a celebrity.”

“Us included,” Micah nodded sagely.

Cris agreed, “Us included. If you lost to like some vapid album about the struggles of being in love, then the Grammys doesn’t deserve its reputation. Your album was amazing and it was real and relatable in a way that went beyond sex, love, and disappointment. If it doesn’t win, then there’s a problem with the system not the album.”

The crowd clapped and cheered.

“Oh my God,” Theodore said blushing, sinking lower in his seat and hiding his face. “The Grammy committee’s going to come after me. Thanks. Awesome, Cris.”

“You’re welcome,” he said cheekily.

“And speaking of vapid pop albums,” Christian said with a teasing smile, “you guys just released another studio album in the midst of a lot of solo projects. Was it difficult to sort of wrangle this album together when everyone else was spinning in different directions?”

Cris frowned and looked over at Micah. He shrugged, “I think it was easier. Everyone was working on solo projects, which meant we weren’t arguing about directions and genres that were personal to us. We got together and made an album that was incredibly a collaborative experience about friendships and family rather than feeling like we needed to inject our own individual experiences into it. We have other outlets for that now so it’s less of a power struggle to see whose ideas come out on top.”

The boys nodded in agreement.

“I’ve never had that problem. I can’t even imagine what that’s like,” Theodore said honestly.

“Haven’t you?” Christian added before he could devolve into a side conversation with Breaking Fourth. Theodore turned to him and raised his eyebrows. “You’re releasing a collaborative album with Santiago Reyes. That’s not something you also struggled with?”

“Not really? I don’t think it’s the same. I produced on the album and wrote and composed, but I didn’t do all those things on every song, and every song wasn’t mine…if that makes sense? We didn’t all have to sit down together and argue on theme or direction or what we wanted this album to say. I mean I don’t know,” he turned to Benji, “you produced on it. What do you think?”

Benji nodded in agreement. “I agree. I think it’s really not the same experience. We had different people writing, producing, composing, sometimes even performing. It’s their song but not their music. They don’t have to commit to it. When we write for these albums it’s more than a momentary collaboration. It’s our one chance say what we want so say so things can get heated. It wasn’t the same for this album at all.”

Theodore nodded, “That’s kind of what I figured.”

“You’re all very young and successful,” Christian teased, “but who would have expected you all to get in such serious relationships so soon. Cris you’re married to your best friend, Irial. And Micah just got married as well to Irial’s radio co-host.”

Cris and Micah grinned and nodded.

“My girlfriend’s pregnant,” Dominic announced as excited cheers broke out from their fans. He colored slightly and nodded. “So, I guess serious is a place I have to get to really fast. Really _really_ fast.”

“And what about you, Benji, any marriages or pregnancies we should know about?”

“Well…” Benji started, drawing out before laughing and shaking his head.

“You’ve made the news lately about your four-year relationship.”

Again, their fans cheered.

Theodore nodded sagely and shrugged. “I’m still not gonna talk about it. I know Maggie Gallagher. Maggie Gallagher knows me. What she did was a huge invasion of privacy. I can accept those kinds of things in my life, but my girlfriend’s not famous and doesn’t want to be. That should be respected. She overstepped, knows she overstepped, and expects no repercussions for her actions. I’m not here for that.”

Christian raised his hands in a gesture of innocence. “I won’t ask. I won’t ask, but those pictures of you and that guy in the grocery store.”

“Should I take this one?” Benji added, raising his hand like a grade school child. Theodore laughed and sat back, crossing his legs and shrugging playfully. “So I’m a liar. I have a girlfriend…” he stopped and blushed when the crowd cheered. “We’ve been dating—what?—almost as long as you.”

“I don’t know,” Theodore said, shrugging. “Ya’ll are so secretive I really have no idea.”

Benji grimaced and nodded, clearing his throat uncomfortably. “Point, point, you might have a point. But it’s like this: we’ve been dating long enough that I seriously considered marriage. And since Teddy knows all about secret relationships and being practically married to someone without telling a soul, we’ve been having heart-to-hearts. I mean we’re friends! And he didn’t have any food in the house. How can we bond without food?”

“Next time we’re getting takeaway.” Theodore added playfully.

Benji nodded sagely, “I know. Rosie’d be pissed if we were secretly screwing.”

“Listen,” Theodore told him seriously, turning to Benji and holding his hands. “Even if you _were_ attractive,” Benji gasped like he’d been personally offended, taking a hand out from beneath Theodore’s and holding it to his chest, “I wouldn’t touch you with a ten-foot pole because Rosie scares the crap out of me.”

“Rosie Ireland?” A group of girls exclaimed from the audience.

Theodore leaned around Benji to stare at them with amusement.

One girl stood up and held out a hand, waiting patiently as five different people smacked twenties into her palm.

“You’re fan are like little detectives. Do they know everyone who works for you?” Theodore inquired.

Benji gaped at him. “Do you think your fans don’t?”

Theodore grimaced, “That’s so scary. Don’t tell me that.” He paused and pressed his lips together. “I mean they don’t, right? Someone would have told me that, right?” He looked over at Breaking Fourth who refused to meet his eyes. “Right?” Turning his attention to Harry standing off to the side, he demanded, “Right?”

Harry shook his head fighting a smile while Theodore gaped. “Well I’ll be damned. I feel so lied to.”

“Cause…you were,” Benji agreed, practically climbing into Cris’s lap when Theodore turned to slap him.


	55. "That's What I Like" by Bruno Mars

**ET Interview with Maverick**

**Maverick:** I’m always really excited to tour. I think that’s why my record company likes me to go on these extensive world tours. It’s a great opportunity, and they work with me so that I’m not just going to places to tour, I have to time to see a little of the country while I’m there. In the US not so much, but it’s not as difficult for me to make time to travel in the US.

**Alison:** I know that recently there’s been a lot of pushback against you going to places like—for instance—Russia and Israel to perform. I know you generally try to avoid political discussions but was that ever a consideration?

**Maverick:** I’ve never performed in Russia before because the logistics are just a nightmare. At least that’s what I’m told. When I had the chance I jumped on it. And I love performing in Israel. I don’t see a reason not to. The thing is, that’s not my fight. If we really want to start these conversations, we need to be honest with ourselves. If you don’t like what their government is doing, then don’t but it’s not your country and hating the people doesn’t change anything. I don’t see a reason not to perform in Russia or Israel. Even if I thought they were doing anything wrong, I wouldn’t say anything. That’s not my battle. And to be honest people have been more vocal about Israel than Russia, and if that’s how you want to be remembered then fine, but I’m not putting my name next to that kind of anti-Semitic sentiment. And if you say it isn’t then good for you, but I feel like it is, and I’m not going down like that. Not now, not ever, end of discussion. So no, not going when I had the opportunity was never a consideration.

**Alison:** Wow, I didn’t expect that kind of discourse from you.

**Maverick:** Yeah, I usually try not to be so polemical, but I also try to stay true to myself. If you want to hear something really wild ask me about Black Lives Matter. Off camera, though. I don’t to get shanked or have some radio host say that they’re taking my black card away. Actual things that have happened.

 

**Breaking Fourth’s Benji Irving confirms girlfriend rumors**

Just last night on Christian Teek’s late night talk show, The Nightly Tea, his interview was taken over by British boyband, Breaking Fourth, and pop sensation, Maverick. The latter kickstarts his tour a little less than a month and has confirmed he’ll likely be staying in America doing promo and release for his collaborative album with Santiago Reyes, Benji Irving, and Alina Rosen among others. But the show also dropped another bomb, the man photographed at Tesco with Maverick was none other than Benji Irving who went on to say they were “bonding” over secret relationships. No sooner had he confessed to having a secret long-time girlfriend did he admit that the woman in questions was Rosemary Ireland, one of the band’s publicists and COO for Sterling and Ireland PR in the UK.

 

To: haroldpotter6999@gmail.com; teddymaverick96@gmail.com

From: raymondlenore@laexclusives.org

Subject: RE: Selling a house

Dear Harry and Theodore,

I just wanted to confirm that we are still on for today at 11am. I’ll stop and pick up coffees and danishes if you’d like from a nearby bakery on the way. Let me know.

Regards,

Raymond Lenore

 

**Text message from Theodore**

**Harry:** Where are you?

**Theodore:** Stuck in traffic

**Theodore:** Where are you?

**Harry:** XD

**Harry:** Not stuck in traffic.

**Theodore:** I could actually kill you.

 

**Teddy Langston (@TM_1996)**

It’s like this LA traffic is actually the worst.

**Dakota Crosby (@K9_Crosby)**

@TM_1996 I’m with you. I’m here stuck in ATL traffic driving my sister to a volleyball tournament.

 

**Teddy Langston (@TM_1996)**

@K9_Crosby I mean…she knows she’s going to be late right?

 

**Dakota Crosby (@K9_Crosby)**

@TM_1996 update: we’re skipping it to go to the Varsity. Mostly because we want out of traffic and the exit was right here.

 

**Teddy Langston (@TM_1996)**

@K9_Crosby go to the coke museum. So good. I went with Harry, it was so cool. and the tasting room was fantastic.

* * *

“…but they’re _family_ ,” Raymond pressed in mild disbelief. “It’s disgusting.”

“It makes perfect sense,” Harry nodded before grinning. “Honestly, I did not see the Rhaegar/Lyanna thing coming. I mean logically I should have, right? Lyanna Stark wasn’t really the kind to sit back and let herself be abducted and raped. And on top of that, Robert Baratheon wasn’t a catch and was quite the egomaniac. It’s not everyday a man with an entire family line of brunettes suddenly has two golden-blonde children and doesn’t so much as blink in confusion.”

“You’re a R+L=J shipper?”

Harry cocked his head and narrowed his eyes on his real estate agent in his plaid Brooks Brothers suit. “What are you? Fifteen? How do you even know what that means?”

“How do you?” Raymond fired back, unbuttoning his suit jacket and crossing his arms over his chest. “I have two teenaged daughters. What’s your excuse?”

“I’m on Tumblr,” Harry admitted happily. Raymond rolled his eyes. “And AO3.” At the broker’s look of confusion, Harry shook his head. “Fanfiction. I’m not ashamed. I read Game of Thrones fanfiction. If they’re not going to give me Rhaegar/Lyanna flashbacks longer than five seconds then I’ll read a hundred thousand word story online. No shame here. I even read fanfiction about my boyfriend once. _That_ was weird.”

“I’ll bet,” Raymond agreed. He paused and studied Harry from the corner of his eye. “Tell me, are there any good Jaime Lannister and Brienne of Tarth fanfictions? I’m not saying I could read that kind of smuttiness, but it’s definitely not outside the realm of possibility. The best part about the whole season was Jaime Lanniser finally realizing Cersei’s a psycho.”

Harry scoffed, “The best thing aside from being able to fly from Dragonstone to north of the wall in like under a day?”

Raymond grimaced and shook his head. “Don’t remind m—”

“I’m here!” Theodore shrieked, voice echoing off the walls of the hallway. The door slammed shut, and Harry winced, eyebrows raising as Theodore raced into the room with Attila and Wu Zetian at his feet. Harry blinked in disbelief, scratching Taizong’s head while the puppy kicked excitedly at seeing its favorite human. “I’m here…hello my baby,” Theodore said to Taizong after greeting the other dogs with kisses and strokes. He plucked the puppy from Harry’s arms and pressed a kiss to Harry’s lips. “I’m here.”

“Late,” Harry agreed.

Theodore grimaced, “I hate LA.” He turned to the real estate broker. “I’m Theodore Langston.”

“Raymond Lenore,” the broker introduced, shaking Theodore’s hand. “Harry and I were just discussing Game of Thrones.”

Theodore nodded sagely, “Only because you don’t know what _Love O2O_ is.”

“I thought we agreed not to bring up our obsession with Asian television programs outside of close circles.”

“It’s a Chinese drama,” Theodore told Raymond brightly.

Harry sighed exasperatedly.

Raymond hid his smile and nodded, “Why don’t you show me around the house? I’m sure you know it’s location on Mulholland Drive is already a major selling point.”

“I hate this house,” Theodore stated cheerfully while Harry could only blink and follow behind as Theodore invited Raymond further inside to explore the building’s sprawling structure. “It was built in 1958. Five beds, five baths, pool, the works in Beverly Hills. But I bought it because I needed a place to live and my real estate agent and manager recommended it. I don’t mind Beverly Hills as such but this house is just nothing like I pictured myself ever living in, you know?

“How much did you purchase it for ten years ago?”

“Like 2.9…million.” Theodore shrugged. “I’m not looking to capitalize on a semi-decent investment, I just hate this house and want to break even.”

“Well the market’s moved on,” Raymond said with a shrug as they stepped out into the backyard overlooking the pool. He turned to Harry and Theodore. “I see you updated the kitchen.”

Theodore shuddered, “I hate to. I can’t live in house that looks like it belonged to my grandma back in the fifties.”

Raymond laughed and nodded. “I hear you. Well, since you’re being very realistic sellers, I can say this house probably could sell for a maximum of 3.9, but if you want it gone so badly then we can price it to sell between 3.6 and 3.7.”

Theodore looked over at Harry who shrugged. He tried hard not to involve himself in Theodore’s money. That wasn’t to say he didn’t go over the books that Theodore pretended didn’t exist, but when it came to buying things and selling things, Harry tried hard not to intervene. It rarely worked, but when it came to this house, he didn’t have an opinion either way. He though Theodore would rather sell it for a buck rather than keep it another week.

“That’ll work,” Theodore agreed, looking around the yard with a grimace. He set the puppy down on the lawn and tensed when it skirted too close to the pool. “I just want to not live here anymore. That would be great.”

Raymond hid a smile and met eyes with Harry who could only shrug.

Charlie had recommended Raymond, the broker had helped him find his home away from home in the Hollywood Hills. He’d insisted Raymond knew enough and did enough business in Beverly Hills to be able to help them. For all Theodore’s pretending he didn’t prefer Beverly Hills, something about the sheer number of people so self-interested that they could ignore his eccentricities appealed to him. Theodore liked Beverly Hills, so Harry would do his best to make certain he remained there.

“Now, I assume I’m not just here about selling this house,” Raymond turned to them. “What are we looking for exactly?”

Harry and Theodore exchanged a quick look. “Three bedrooms, at least as many baths. We don’t like company to stay for long but we need a real yard for the dogs and space to roam for the cats and something livable for us. We don’t stay in LA often but when we do it’s for longer than a day or two.”

“Okay,” Raymond nodded, gazing between the pair of them. “And what are we looking at in terms of price?”

Theodore smiled guiltily while Harry shook his head.

“No, we’re not getting a forty-five million dollar house.”

“We can afford one,” Theodore said breezily.

“That doesn’t mean we need one,” Harry exclaimed in mild disbelief. Raymond took a sip of his coffee and narrowed his eyes on Attila and Wu Zetian chased each around the pool. “Less than six million.”

Theodore grimaced.

“Seven million?”

Theodore wrinkled his nose.

“Eight is literally my upper limit.”

Theodore turned to him and grinned, “I’m good at eight million.”

“You’re a menace to society. That’s what you’re good at.”

Raymond held up his hands to ward off anymore arguments. Unable to hide his smile, he glanced at his watch and finished up a text message on his phone. “We’ll have Clara come take pictures since you don’t really have a lot of belongings here anyway.” They both flushed while he rolled his eyes. “We could look at houses now, if you’re both available. I don’t have another appointment until three.”

Theodore turned to Harry who scowled. “I have rehearsals for Ellen, then stuff for Conan, and then I have to go to the studio for the Late Late Show.”

“That sounds awful.”

“Why do I love you?” Theodore inquired.

“Since you’re committed to selling this house like yesterday, I’ll go to look at houses decently priced and not outside our realm of ability to handle, yeah?”

“Yeah, babe, you go,” Theodore said with a smile, leaning over to press a kiss to his lips. “Should we do lunch before you two dash off to explore the homes of Beverly Hills? And I go work or whatever?”

Harry scoffed and rolled his eyes.

 

Lunch at the Ivy was about as relaxed as one get anywhere in Hollywood where even women weren’t looked at strangely if they showed up in (designer) jeans and thousand dollar t-shirts bedazzled with Swarovski crystals. The Ivy was as close as Hollywood would ever get to a diner and was only lacking a random selection of Greek food to qualify but they’d supplemented their missing gyro platter with pizzas, which Harry could get behind without quarrel. Pizza was always a better way to go.

Harry had dropped Attila and Theodore off at the studio to rehearse before driving back out to West Hollywood to meet Raymond at the first house in Beverly Hills while the agency’s in-house photographer walked through their taking photographs for the website.

The problem, he noticed quickly, with looking in Beverly Hills was two things: the history and the price tag. It was easy to get everything they wanted and more if they went a little bit above their budget with a budget of eight million and Theodore’s wants out of a house, they’d have to stretch to accommodate their needs and wants. Especially since neither Theodore nor Harry was ready for any more extreme home renovations to bring the house into the twenty-first century.

Raymond passed over his phone to Harry to scroll through while driving them to the third house, going through the listings. He could dismissive half of them just based on pricing and size alone. He bit his bottom lip and kept scrolling through the options. If they went outside of Beverly Hills their search might be mildly easier but Theodore stated clearly he was dead set on Beverly Hills without ever actually saying the words.

He looked up from the listings as Raymond pulled the car into the driveway of a gated single-story ranch house with a private driveway and a secondary gate. They climbed out and Harry looked up at the ivy-covered gate, Wu Zetian scuttling out after him. He caught her before she could run off too far, looping her leash around his wrist and guiding her inside after Raymond. The gate opened to a nice piece of property, a pool and a patio, with indoor outdoor living space.

Harry paused on the patio and stared inside hesitantly.

“Do you even need to say it?” Raymond asked, squealing and backing away as Wu Zetian leapt on him excitedly. He brushed the dirt off of his suit. “Do you even need this big of a dog? Why don’t you have a little dog like everybody else in California?”

Harry turned to him, eyebrows furrow and skepticism on his face. “We’re men. Little dogs are for reality tv stars and men kowtowing to their girlfriends.”

“I have a King Charles Spaniel.”

His expression slackened. “Seriously? Not even a French Bulldog? How much did your designer puppy cost you?”

“You gonna take away my man card because I bought my wife a two thousand dollar puppy? You have two cats and three dogs?”

“Real dogs,” Harry agreed nodding before huffing in disbelief. “And we have four cats. Theodore convinced me to go to one of the Los Angeles shelters and we picked up a bonded pair of kittens. Gongmin and Noguk after the last king and queen of Goryeo. I wanted to go for Choi Young and Lady Yoo but my idea was vetoed. Apparently we’re sticking to kings and queens as our theme. I’m not opposed.”

“You guys are so weird,” Raymond reported with raucous laughter. He grimaced and turned to Harry. “What do you think of the house?”

“It won’t work,” Harry said honestly, shrugging his shoulders dismissively. “It’s too cold like a catalogue. He’s British but loves southern traditions. His adoptive family’s from Louisiana and his biological mother’s also from the south. He’s charmed by traditional architecture not so much Hollywood’s brand of bland sleek style. He doesn’t like it. I don’t like it. I’m sorry.”

“No worries, no worries, I think I have the house.”

“Oh boy,” Harry drawled as Raymond lead him back to the car, giving Wu Zetian a wide berth.

“No worries, it just took me a couple tries, but I got it,” Raymond promised, offering a thumbs up as they climbed into the car. Wu Zetian popped into the front seat long enough to lick Raymond’s cheek eliciting a girlish squeal while Harry shook his head.

“Buckle up.”

It was less than fifteen minute’s drive in winding back roads through a neighborhood of multimillion-dollar houses to reach the next place. Raymond parked outside the three car garage where a woman in a pencil skirt and chiffon blouse waited to shake Raymond’s hand and Harry’s when he climbed out of the car. It was much to look at from this angle, a two-story white house obscured by trees and ivy but connected to the room above the garage by a walkway. Everything was fenced in and hidden behind trees.

Harry thought maybe Raymond had overplayed his hand until they walked through the fence and down the stone walkway to the front door and he saw the house. Two stories and columns on a half-circle front entry that went all the way up to the roof in a traditional southern architectural style.

Raymond glanced over at him, and Harry quickly schooled his features as the agent led them into the entryway.

“The house is a little less than five thousand square feet and was built in 1937 in southern colonial style. The hardwood is original. It’s been in the family since the 30s and the homeowner’s really looking for someone who won’t just tear down the house. She put a lot of work into updating it for that purpose entirely. The heating and air are all new, she got a complete re-pipe down on the plumbing, and update the kitchen of course. But there’s a pool and sitting area outside. And it’s completely fenced in.”

“How much is she asking?” Harry asked, looking around the house in awe.

“Five million.”

Raymond smiled while Harry nodded.

“Four bedrooms and five full baths.”

“That’s a little more than we wanted, but it’s manageable,” Harry said more to himself than to Raymond and the other real estate agent. The house was classic, southern colonial, with window boxes and shingles and the feel of not being in California surrounded by the same cookie cutter overpriced chic homes one generation away from being smart homes.

“I’ll let you two talk,” the agent excused herself.

Harry turned to Raymond. “Don’t tell Theodore.”

“What? He’ll love this house.”

“Exactly. I’ll buy it, and we won’t tell Theodore or he’ll get all huffy about things. This is a southern house in the heart of Beverly Hills. I’ll buy it for him, and I don’t want him to know until the paperwork’s already signed. How quickly do you think we can close?”

Raymond held up his hands. “I’ll go have a talk with Karen. But if you want a quick close and for Theodore not to be suspicious go full ask, all cash, and I’ll see about when I can get you in, okay?”

Harry looked around again and felt himself relax. “Okay,” he said, “let’s do it.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you weren't sure, this chapter was written the same week Lorde announced that she was pulling her tour dates in Israel. It feel in line with Teddy's politics and was appropriate considering his touring in the novel but I understand most people do not read romance novels for politics. Just, you know, I let myself get upset. Apologies, apologies.
> 
> What I'm more sorry about here is the GoT spoilers but if you haven't watched the latest season yet and no one spoiled it, you have better friends than me.


	56. "Glow" by Sophie Beem

**Teddy Langston (@TM_1997)**

My bf bought me the best house in Beverly Hills #swoon How did I get so lucky?

 

**Text message from Maggie**

**Maggie:** Naturally HBS did shoot me an email to let me know no to pursue this.

**Maggie:** It included commentary about legal action.

**KC:** They managed to turn things around quite fast and quite well

**Maggie:** It might bring a lawsuit but is this something you want to pursue?

**KC:** I found something interesting in public record…

**Maggie:** Not their marriage cert?

**KC:** Still got a guy digging for that.

**KC:** Something almost as juicy…

 

**Text message from Rosie**

**Rosie:** She’s been scarily quiet

**Harry:** Maggie doesn’t bow out gracefully.

**Harry:** The bitch is scheming I just know it.

**Rosie:** If she keeps her head down this much it must be something big.

**Rosie:** Did you do something newsworthy?

**Harry:** …ask Sully about public domain info in LA please…

**Rosie:** I don’t even want to know

 

**Maverick (@MaverickOfficial)**

@CharlieBeck @StPatty_ are some excellent surfers…I however am not.

 

**Charlie Beck (@CharlieBeck)**

@MaverickOfficial terrible actually. Raleigh’s a better surfer than you

 

**Maverick (@MaverickOfficial)**

…an unscheduled practice would be great rn. Or corndogs. I could rly go with a corndog

 

**The Unmasked (@UnmaskedMagUK)**

Keep an eye out for our next edition where we drop an exclusive on some cohabitation hijinks afoot in Hollywood.

 

**Text message from Rosie**

**Rosie:** Tell me she didn’t.

 

**Text message from Theodore**

**Theodore:** Is she really human?

 

**Teddy Langston (@TM_1996)**

Stress is really not good for my sobriety @K9_Crosby talk me down from the ledge. I’ll call you.

 

**Dakota Crosby (@K9_Crosby)**

@TM_1996 I shall await your call with the utmost glee and excitement.

 

**YouTube Channel, Real Talk Daily: Maverick’s Cohabitation**

**Jenny:** Maverick is back in the news yet again for some scandalous secrets.

**Mckinley:** I don’t know if I would call them scandalous. I don’t even know if I would call them secrets. I just don’t know if I even believe this obvious feud between The Unmasked and Maverick. Or, maybe more specifically, Maverick’s publicist who successfully sued The Unmasked CEO regarding the outing of a British soccer star.

**Jenny:** According to the Unmasked, Maverick’s new million-dollar southern mansion in Beverly Hills wasn’t actually purchased by him. A bunch of public records show the property was _purchased_ by Maverick’s publicist, Harry Benton-Sterling, but Maverick has been photographed living in it.

**Mckinley:** Right, I mean okay…so his publisher paid for and has his name on this house. Is that unusual for Hollywood? Genuinely asking here. I mean if public records leak _this_ easily, I’d have my publicist’s name on my house too.

**Jenny:** Right well The Unmasked made a point of connecting a bunch of Instagram photos of Benton-Sterling’s friends and employees placing him as presumably living in the house.

**Mckinley:** But is this unusual? Is this enough to be like ‘they must be doing something shady?’ His girlfriend lives in London. He’s fresh out of rehab pretty much less than a year sober. He and his publicist are good friends. He’s said this so I don’t find anything strange about this assuming it even _is_ true.

**Jenny:** Yeah, I would agree. And I don’t feel comfortable speculating on anyone’s sexualities. So I’d rather talk about how The Unmasked clearly has it out for Sterling and Ireland PR.

**Mckinley:** Isn’t it fascinating?

 

**Maverick (@MaverickOfficial)**

Yes I’m living with my publicist in LA until my tour starts. Yes he bought the house. But is anyone surprised really?

 

**Text message from Rosie**

**Rosie:** Forwarding you a very very interesting email. READ IT.

 

To: margaretleona.gallagher@gmail.co.uk

From: harrybsterling@sterlingandireland.co.uk

Subject: Checkmate

Should we meet to discuss the terms of your surrender?

Best,

Harry Benton-Sterling

* * *

“She’s a blight! A plague on humanity! Ew what _is_ this?” Rory demanded where she sat cross-legged on the living room floor with a lapful of Rottweiler, her phone in one hand and laptop open on the couch beside her. She flicked the piece of sushi at Sully, silencing is laughter only until Washington snatched the sushi out of the air and tossed it into his mouth with a bland smile. Rory glared at him in abject betrayal.

“I don’t taste anything wrong with it. Other than being a shitty California roll. This is amateur level sushi,” Washington complained.

Rory made a disgruntled sound while Rosie waggled her eyebrows and swept her finger through the dollop of wasabi on the sushi tray. She stretched her legs out, only reacting when a delighted childlike scream redirected their attention to where Charlie and Patrick’s son, Raleigh, tore down the hallway, hands thrown up in the air as Attila chased him down the hallway.

“I’ll save you, little bird!” Rosie exclaimed, darting up from the couch and plucking him from the ground to spin him through the air.

Tossing his head back, the toddler laughed delightedly, kicking his feet until she tossed him bodily towards Washington. He didn’t once blink as he caught the child in midair. Raleigh grinned and went prone in Washington’s arms, squealing again when Washington tossed him over his shoulder and Rosie got the brunt of Attila. The dog jumped on her, knocking her to the floor and proceeding to attack her with slobbery kisses.

“Stop! Stop! Make it stop!”

“Don’t knock over my shitty sushi!” Rory warned while Sully pointed at her in agreement, leaning forward not to move the plate but to toss a piece of sushi into her mouth. Rory raised her eyebrows at him while Sully chewed and grinned at her. She pointed at him and stated coldly, “You suck.”

Sully saluted her.

“In Alaska we use real crab meat not this awful synthetic shit.”

Harry turned where he sat in the kitchen island scrolling through the barrage of emails from his employees about impossible celebrities, pushy journalists, and far too many referring to sex scandals. He tilted his head and blinked dumbly at Rory.

“You’re from Fairbanks.”

“So?”

“So Fairbanks is landlocked.”

Rory flicked him off before declaring, “If I get food poisoning, I’ll never let you forget it.”

“You ordered it,” Rosie remarked where she lay sprawled on the floor with the dog tucked up beside her.

“Wrong,” Washington corrected, “ _Sully_ ordered it.”

Rosie grimaced and shook her head. “Bad move. He has no accounting for taste.”

“Hey!”

“Speaking of,” Rosie said sitting up to her elbows and flashing Harry a conspiratorial grin, “I heard you booked Elena Valence for Dorian Speaks later this month when she goes up to London…”

“So? Her and Alina are friends. Alina and Elena are friends.” Upon seeing her look, Harry pointed a finger at her and shook his head. “Don’t. Don’t. Just don’t.”

“I’m just say you haven’t booked a single one of our new clients that didn’t personally know Irial on his show in over two years so…”

“So don’t make more of this than it is, okay?”

“You’re friends again!” Rosie exclaimed blissfully.

“We were never not friends.” Harry grumbled in reply.

Rosie made a face while even Sully and Rory appeared taken aback by this response. She scoffed after a moment, shaking her head decisively. “Being in a weird fugue state where you don’t talk to each other and stew in a pile of anger, resentment, and spite is not actually a friendship. And friendships don’t actually require explicit breakup talks to be dissolved.”

Harry sneered and rolled his eyes reaching for his glass of coke and wishing desperately that it was an alcoholic beverage.

“Huh?”

They all turned at the sound, Raleigh squealing excitedly from Washington’s arms. Theodore dropped his back by the door, setting his water bottle down on the table before hurrying over to pluck Raleigh from Washington’s arms, cuddling the toddler close and pressing a kiss to his forehead. Harry watched silently, leaning on the island, eyes on Theodore’s seemingly unshakeable smile.

Salem had volunteered them and their transient brood of friends, co-workers, and employees to babysit Raleigh when Patrick and Charlie were both busy. Harry hadn’t been certain about it. Harry’s life was hectic and sudden, liable to change at any moment and have him on a plane ride to London or New York or, god forbid, China. And Theodore was irresponsible. For all his attempts to find stability, Theodore was too soon out of rehab to be trusted around a baby. When he got stressed his default was alcohol, and Harry knew it would have been cocaine if Harry hadn’t steamrolled Jesse Godfrey to use Preston’s job security as leverage to keep drugs out of Theodore’s reach unless he went wondering the shadier areas of Los Angeles by himself.

It hadn’t been all that troublesome babysitting Raleigh. Half the battle was won because he was just such a good, self-contained child. As long as he had an animal or a _Star Wars_ movie to keep him entertained, Raleigh remained relatively still and quiet. But he _liked_ to move, and Harry found that both he and Theodore enjoyed the chaos Raleigh’s presence brought to the household albeit for different reasons.

Raleigh kept Harry on his toes, forced him to put down his phone and relax and not yell at his employees constantly over Skype and overtake the projects he’d assigned them. He played with the cats, with the dogs, with Raleigh. He did work outside in the yard under the harsh glare of the sun and despite Raleigh’s gleeful screeches as he ran through the sprinklers until either his parents or his bodyguard came to pick him up. Dealing with Raleigh was exhausting and stressful and shockingly delightful.

Theodore’s focus was fixated around Raleigh. His stress levels both rising and dropping to something vaguely normalizing in non-drug addicts. He binged on sleep and coloring books and playing soccer with Raleigh in the yard rather than downing an entire bottle of vodka searching for a high.

Washington snagged the baby back with a ferocious, pointed glare.

Theodore shrugged and looked over at Rosie, fingers raking through his wavy hair. “You broke up with Benji?”

“No!” Rosie gasped in horror, hand on her chest like some twentieth century southern heroine. Harry rolled his eyes but accepted the kiss Theodore offered as he plucked the sweating glass of coke right out of Harry’s fingers. He wrinkled his nose but didn’t fixate. “We’re talking about Irial.”

“They’re friends again, did he tell you?” Theodore asked with a broad grin.

Harry swatted at him furiously.

Theodore laughed, dancing out of the way.

“See?” Rosie demanded, gesturing sharply towards him. “Theodore knows.”

“We were friends!” Harry argued, turning towards Theodore.

“Teddy! Juice!” Raleigh called from where he climbed over Washington’s broad shoulders like the man was a living jungle gym. He ran his fingers over the man’s bald head before tugging just slightly at the fine hairs of his beard. Washington winced and carefully moved Raleigh’s hand away from his beard.

“No,” Theodore remarked playfully going to the fridge to pull out a pair of juice boxes. “That wasn’t friendship unless we’re talking _Gossip Girl_ style frenemies. And you’re both way too old for that kind of nonsense.”

“I’ve always been very against domestic abuse but it’s starting to look attractive,” Harry drawled.

Rory pouted, “You shouldn’t joke about things like that.”

“Apple or grape?” Was Theodore’s only response, throwing Harry a droll glance while holding up the juices for Raleigh.

Raleigh gently took the grape juice box from Theodore, expression shy like he was afraid at any moment it could be snatched back. Theodore only returned the apple juice to the fridge.

“Publicly,” Rosie corrected with a smirk. Harry raised his eyebrows at her while Rory’s scowl deepened. “You shouldn’t joke about things like that _publicly_. What’s life if we can’t throw away political correctness in the privacy of your own home? Among friends. I feel like I can freely admit I have a highly illegal weapon in my home in London. I even voted for Trump.”

“He’s a racist, homophoic asshole,” Sully drawled lazily.

Rosie only reclined lazily on the floor and batted her eyelashes at Sully. “I feel like I need racism defined in the dictionary because racism seems to be something black people insist only they have a claim to. Saying we all need to practice personal responsibility and not rely on their race to win an argument or leverage things isn’t racist.”

“And those comments about Islam?”

“I’ll get upset about those when extremists stop trying to kill us. And when they stop trying to kill Israel. And when they stop trying to kill gays. And when they can get along with each other.”

Harry reached out slowly to snag an apple from the bowl on the island. He took a bite slowly and watched Rosie and Sully with growing discomfort. For a fairly diverse group—sexually and racially—they were surprisingly conservative if secretive about it. Harry had voted for Brexit. Rosie had voted for Trump. Rory voted for anything that didn’t make Alaskan lives difficult—namely Republicans. Washington was an enigma, but Harry suspected not as liberal as Sully wanted to believe. And Theodore had written a think piece under a pseudonym where he’d all but outright said he agreed with Russia’s policy declaring Black Lives Matter a terror group, and that only existed because Harry had stated flatly that he’d be hunted down and assassinated if he expressed his opinions about Antifa.

Then there was Sully, their token liberal, globalist friend and associate. This was why people shouldn’t discuss politics so freely. It would have robbed them of their friendship.

“And those comments about Haiti?”

“Are we going to pretend that they were ever a developed country just because they’re in our hemisphere and full of black people?”

Sully grimaced and looked at Washington, “No offense.”

Rosie sighed, and Rory hopped up at hearing the expect knock at the front door.

“I’m from Chicago,” Washington said plainly, not playing into Sully’s hands.

“Assuming he was Haitian just because he’s black, _that’s_ racist.” Rosie pointed out.

Theodore pressed his lips together and nodded sagely, wisely knowing better than to open his mouth and invade their tense exchange.

“You know just because you’re in the majority doesn’t mean you’re right. It just means potentially millions of people are wrong.”

“Just because an institution has been long-standing doesn’t mean it’s proper.” Sully volleyed.

Harry tipped back his head and sighed, “How long does it take to bring a journalist from the front door to us?”

Theodore swallowed a laugh and nodded his head.

“Kind of like slavery? Because that’s almost ten thousand years of global history people want white European descendants to apologize for. And it was on its way out before the Civil War erupted. And the south didn’t fight that war over slaves. They fought it over the northern sense of entitlement, at telling the southerners what to do.”

“I always forget she’s a southerner.” Harry said, upper lip curled back in disdain.

Theodore shrugged and stole his apple, taking a bite. “I mean, it’s true.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“From the people that glorify Abe Lincoln who wanted to send every black person back to Africa,” Theodore shrugged again and smirked.

Rory interrupted the burgeoning debates with a delicate clearing of her throat. “I’m bringing them to the sitting room.”

“I guess I don’t have time to get changed,” Theodore brooded before turning to Washington. “You…”

“I have the baby. I’ll take him outside with the dogs.”

Theodore nodded while Rosie and Sully snapped immediately to attention with Rory entrance.

“Should I get coffees?”

“Are you a servant?” Rosie retorted, shaking her head. “No, this is a shakedown not a flirtation.”

“Do you even hear yourself?” Harry asked as he guided Theodore down the hall.

Their sitting room was simple and in a sort of rustically charming southern design that seemed well-suited to Maggie. A shabbily dressed lawyer sat beside her with his briefcase leaning against his leg. They sat uncomfortably on the loveseat across from the sofa where Theodore settled between Harry and Rosie. Sully, in his three-piece suit, sat cross-legged in the antique rocking chair having apparently brought the tray of California rolls and his sake just for the hell of it.

“You’re greeting us together, should I be honored?” Maggie sneered.

“You should be terrified,” Theodore spoke before Harry could. “People only show their hand when they’ve already won or have nothing left to lose. Neither bodes well for you.”

Maggie’s expression slackened.

“There’s no grounds for you to sue. All those records were publicly accessible and releasing that information to the public isn’t illegal. Displeasure is not the same as illegality. My client hasn’t done anything legally reprehensible.”

“How about ethically?” Sully fired off.

Harry shrugged, “I don’t care.” Maggie and her lawyer both glanced up at him in shock. He shrugged tiredly and ran his fingers through his waves of cinnamon brown hair. “I don’t care anymore because, quite frankly, you’ll do this again. And if I take you to court, they’ll give you a fine and a slap on the wrist and we’ll be right back where we started only with you a couple thousand dollars poorer. I’m not Taylor Swift. I’m not in it for the justification of having you admit that you were wrong. I want you blacklisted. I want you to never work in this industry again. I want to never get another call about you outing somebody. And as long as you’re in this industry I’ll never have that.”

“What exactly is this meeting about?” Maggie’s lawyer hedged growing increasingly uncomfortable with the tone of the conversation.

“We’ve decided to hit you where it will actually make an impact.”

“My reputation?” Maggie scoffed.

“Your funding,” Theodore clarified coolly.

Maggie’s mouth fell open in surprise, “You can’t!”

“We did,” Harry retorted, shrugging. “It took a lot of work to find out you were an imprint. You’re under the umbrella of the HBN Corporation. The redheaded stepchild of _Rumor_ Magazine. But you’re practically a leper in this industry. You got that support and funding because your husband introduced you to _Rumor_ ’s CEO, Doug Finnebar, but you’re a liability and your credibility is shot.”

“What did you do?” Maggie demanded, aghast. “What did you give them?”

“My coming out,” Theodore answered.

Maggie laughed bitterly, “After all this, you’re coming out anyway?”

“Not yet, and anyway it wasn’t yours to release. It’s _mine_.”

“You’re finished in this business,” Rosie added callously while Sully took a sip of his sake not needing to much else to the conversation.         

For the first time, Maggie looked genuinely panicked, eyes welling with tears as she shook her head desperately. Theodore stared at her, unmoved by her expression. Harry felt a pang for just a moment, that he’d ripped a woman’s livelihood away from her, but both Rosie and Theodore appeared merciless, unconcerned by the woman unraveling right before their very eyes.

“Why would you…? This is my _life_! It’s all I have! You would have had a career even if I outed you.”

Theodore shook his head while Harry studied Maggie uneasily. Knowing her story had made blacklisting her more distasteful but no less necessary.

“Harry and Sully won’t say anything but they feel bad because while they were researching out they found out about Harting.” Maggie looked up at him then, cheeks wet with tears and disbelief on her face. Theodore remained firm. “You were talented. Wanted to be an investigative journalist until your professor—and lover—stole your thesis, turned it into an award-winning story, and reported you to the school board for stalking and plagiarism. They let you graduate provided your write a new thesis because they didn’t believe him, but he had clout and you didn’t and no one would hire an investigative journalist with such a tainted past. But you know I don’t feel bad for you? Everyone always wants to make things society’s fault, but instead of becoming the best entertainment journalist in the field, you became as smarmy as your professor. That was _you_ and no one else.”

Harry looked over at Theodore and raised his eyebrows, unable to argue with that.

He’d never be proud of stealing her livelihood, as he wasn’t proud of getting Lysa fired, but this was the world she had built for herself. No one could change the reality that these were self-made situations just as the reactions had been decisions he’d made. Everyone had to take responsibility for the part they played.

“Should we apologize?” Theodore demanded coldly.

Maggie licked her lips and brushed her tears away harshly. “No,” she said, voice hoarse with tears, “no of course not. I should go.”

“You’re not a terrible person, Maggie,” Harry spoke when she reached the door. She paused with her hand on the knob and her lawyer behind her. “But you make terrible decisions, and you need to be held accountable for that.”

Maggie looked back at him for a long moment before huffing sadly and walking out the door.

“You’re too nice,” Theodore remarked softly.

Harry nodded, “She’s too pitiful.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well well well I didn't mean to get political again but it actually resembles a talk I've had with my friends and hammers home the point of this chapter: you aren't your political views. We are what we live by and the actions that take and the choices we make. And I know everyone expected Maggie to have been taken down by Bailey and Salem, but the problem is that with the constraints of the law, they did everything they could and actually this is literally on the tail end of that. One thing right after another.


	57. "Lights Down Low" by MAX

**Tumblr Post: domesticatedmaveratic**

**Living with his manager**

I’ve heard both sides of this argument from the tinhatters and the avid ‘he can’t be gay’ camps. Let’s get real: Harry Benton-Sterling is reasonably well off considering his badass client list but he lives and works out of London. Maverick literally said they were living together until he went on tour. There’s no reason for Harry Benton-Sterling to be in LA that long and living with Maverick unless there was affection there. I’m not saying they’re dating but there’s a rumor they arrived together from France right after the time he reportedly got married in Lyon. Maybe it’s all a coincidence, but it’s a pretty huge one.

#they’re definitely together #i can feel it in my bones #maveratics #maveraticsunite

**mymymaverick**

I’m not going to debate or speculate about someone’s sexuality, but if you want to engage on the topic of marriage again, I’m totally here for it.

#maveratics #maverickmarriage #but it’s totally a thing

**jetadore_maveratic**

My cousin has pics. She was there getting her license. She swears it was Maverick and a man.

#they went to the marriage registry dept #no one goes there without a reason #i saw the pics and they’re legit #at the very least Mav’s married to someone #maveratics

**RedRomanMaveratic**

I saw them on my school trip to Rome! They definitely looked like more than friends.

#my bff tried to hit on Harry #he had a wedding ring on #so did Maverick #maveratics #maverickmarriage

**quicktricksroguebitch**

I know everyone swears they don’t want to speculate on Maverick’s sexuality but it sounds like we’re all agreeing that he’s married (to Harry Benton-Sterling)

#just being honest #maveratics #i agree though #they’re definitely together

**setthishouseonfire**

The Breakers will be so upset that we stole they’re person

#harrybs #breakers #maveratics #he’s ours now though

 

**Text message to Violet**

**Harry:** Are you coming?

**Violet:** Can I?

**Harry:** Do you want to?

**Violet:** Of course!

**Harry:** Are you finished with exams by then? What about your summer internship?

**Violet:** I can’t stay long but I can go. OMG of course I want to see everyone.

**Violet:** Can I fly out with Rosie?

**Violet:** Is Rosie going?

 

**Maverick (@MaverickOfficial)**

Two weeks until the #StressFracturesTour kicks off in New York! Let’s go!

 

**AVX (@averyx901)**

@MaverickOfficial tickets were so affordable this year. I’m pumped.

 

**Anna Malenkov (@anna_1032)**

@MaverickOfficial I was so bummed I would miss it but now I get to see it at home in Moscow. You’re the best!!!

 

**Maverick (@MaverickOfficial)**

@anna_1032 what should I do in Moscow? This is my first time and I am pumped!

 

**kk13 (@k.k.022899)**

@MaverickOfficial so many tour dates! I’m so excited for this!!

 

**Group MMS**

**Harry:** I shouldn’t have married into a huge dysfunctional family

**Irial:** Can you talk? You shouldn’t talk.

**Harry:** Mine is small. Tiny even. Minuscule.

**Rosie:** Riiiiiiiiight. What’s the problem?

**Harry:** Air fare.

**Irial:** Annnnnnnnd u lost me again.

**Harry:** They want us to pay. We’re paying for the rental. I’m not letting Teddy pay.

**Rosie:** How much is the rental?

**Harry:** $4000 pr night.

**Irial:** Im sorry im dying. My sight must be off. What was that?

**Rosie:** I’m sorry iri how much is your house on Primrose Hill worth?

**Irial:** Don’t pay for air fare!!!!! Let them pay on their own omfg.

 

To: jamiedutch@sterlingandireland.co.uk

Cc: haroldbsterling@sterlingandireland.co.uk; rosemaryireland@sterlingandireland.com

From: rory.tannen@godfreygroup.com

Subject: RE: RE: Certification

Jamie (and Harry)

I passed! I have a few more hours to complete at the center before I’m officially certified but I definitely will in time for the start of tour.

Go me!

Rory

 

**The Ready Real (@TheReadyRealShow)**

It’s official! Next Friday we host @MaverickOfficial to discuss his album, his tour, and his many many rumors!

 

**Terell White (@36T.White)**

No lie I’m freaking out. Half an hour till it starts…holy crap.

 

**Teddy Langston (@TM_1996)**

I feel like I’m being attacked by family. Can I opt out? Is that a thing?

* * *

“I set myself on fire!” Someone screamed. _Irial_ screamed. Theodore half-smiled and turned where he reclined beneath the pile of dogs, fingers stroking through Wu Zetian’s short, coarse fur. Irial leapt back from the grill clutching his hand like it was engulfed in a raging inferno until Harry appeared with Donna, the latter brandishing cream for his hand.

“Who let you near the grill?” Harry demanded, opening the lid and glaring down through the wafting smoke.

“Are you saying I’m not man enough to grill, Potter child?”

“I’m saying you can’t cook so you certainly can’t grill.”

“I can cook!”

“You can’t,” Rosie called from where she sat next to Theodore, eyes on her computer screen. She looked up to her friends and smiled wickedly. “You can’t cook. Remember that time you set pasta on fire in our dorm. Cause he overcooked it,” she told Theodore mischeviously.

Harry made a face and grabbing the tongs, using them to toss charcoal black hot dogs into the nearby trashcan.

“How are we on food?” Mabel asked as she rushed out of the house with a bowl of potato salad a plate of union rings.

“We were great until Irial burnt everything.”

“It wasn’t me! These malicious lies!” Irial shouted, pouting as Donna muttered over his burnt hand.

“It was you,” Violet added cheerfully, “I saw.”

“He’s your brother!” Irial argued, “Of course you would side with him.”

“Are you accusing me of favoritism?” Violet demanded coolly.

Theodore stifled a laugh, shaking his head and tilting his head back against the seat.

The television that had been dragged outside was turned on and quietly relaying the monotonous drones of the sportscasters. The beach just below them crashed softly against the shoreline. Being outside was nice even in spite of the chill in the air, April not having fully usher in spring yet, evening still holding onto the autumn chill.

They’d be hiding in this cushy Hamptons rental for the next week and a half until he left to go on tour for a year. It was expensive but beautiful, a sprawling seaside estate right along the beach on Shelter Island and private enough that he didn’t worry about pictures or fans or press abruptly showing up to get a glimpse into his private life when he just wanted to spend a couple weeks relaxing with his husband, friends, and (very temporarily) his family. The best part was that it was far enough away to discourage Preston to visit before the start of tour.

Violet rushed into the house to fetch another packet of hotdogs for Harry while Taizong lay across his feet, dead weight and prone as he moved burger patties onto a nearby tray. Curtis followed her out with Calvin, the two men carrying hotdog and burger buns, condiments, and a cooler full of sodas.

They were the most productive.

Irial had moved to lean against the railing and chat with Harry, seeming more than a little relieved that their friendship had found its footing again, while Donna fussed over him like a mother hen.

Delilah sat beside Kerianne, apparently not over Theodore’s surprise marriage, and shooting them glares every now and then until Kerianne smacked her arm. Delilah had her hand resting on the soft curve of her belly, showing off her pregnancy. Kerianne was drinking sangria, a whole punch bowl full of it in the fridge. Theodore wet his lips and looked away hastily, hands curling into fists. Rosie paused what she was doing and looked up between Theodore and Kerianne, eyes narrowing on the sangria. It seems no one had told Harry. He’d dump it out and probably the beers Theodore knew Trey and Mitchell had purchased and hidden too.

Aisha and Wendell had arrived together but before they’re parents along with her boyfriend, Peter, a high-powered corporate attorney. Their parents had followed soon after and sat nearby chatting uncertainly with Peter who Theodore certainly didn’t like and made an effort to steer clear of. He was too ambitious, and Theodore had an aversion to politicians, even politicians-to-be.

Sean, it seemed, had escaped conversation with his mother’s new girlfriend, R&B singer Tamara Salt. Their ten-minute conversation had inevitably turned to music, and Theodore was wary enough to be cautious of working with Tamara but curious enough to be interested. Still, Sean seemed more at ease joking around with Harry and Irial rather than watching his mother paw over her girlfriend and crack sexual jokes like they were both in their twenties or not in the presence of the person she’d given birth to.

Lila, Hannah, and Kiana lay sprawled on the floor playing with Barbie dolls. Theodore had been somewhat surprised Uncle Sy showed up at all let alone in company of his and his wife’s seven-year-old daughter. When he’d revealed they were getting divorced, Theodore had been less surprised. He claimed they’d filed for irreconcilable differences, but apparently Tamara was countersuing for alienation of affection on accounting of his two-year affair with his secretary, a flighty nineteen-year-old named Nina.

“Are they always like that?” Sean asked, appearing beside him.

Theodore looked up and grinned, “What are they doing?”

“Talking about screwing,” Rosie answered, “probably in vague innuendos and involving pop culture references.”

“Irial asked if Harry had ever eaten out a girl before and what that was like,” Sean announced looking mildly green.

Theodore grimaced, “Can you not provide details? I get you’re overcome with emotion but I don’t want to know.”

“Have you ever done that?” Sean asked, horrified.

Theodore threw Rosie a desperate look, but she only closed her laptop to gape at him. “You’re nineteen. Have _you_ never done that?”

“What are you doing this summer?” Theodore threw in with a very obvious attempt at changing the subject. He felt vaguely nauseous and a little uncomfortable hearing about it. His own sexual history ranged from not-the-best-idea to ew-let’s-pretend-it-didn’t-happen, and Harry’s he knew only the basics of and his manwhoring days of uni even less. He knew Harry and Rosie had dated for a while and not told anyone because they felt pressured. The details were, not irrelevant, but entirely unnecessary to be told.

A small smile spread across Sean’s face. “I got an internship.”

“Alright!” Rosie exclaimed.

“Where?”

This time his smile was shy. He scratched the back of his neck and admitted, “Daiki Company.”

“Shut up!” Rosie exclaimed, “I’m so sorry.”

“There’s nothing wrong with Salem,” Harry interrupted as he came over, resting an arm on Irial’s shoulder and leaning against him. Irial scowled, and Harry grinned. “Salem’s a genius who’s saved everyone here at least once.”

“Salem’s great,” Rosie agreed.

Theodore nodded and finished her sentence, “But he’s a terrible boss. He’s impatient. He yells all the time. And he thinks he’s the smartest guy in the room. Luckily for you he probably won’t be your supervisor.”

“Are you going to protest this treatment of Salem?” Irial asked Harry in a whisper.

“Can we protest truths?”

“Yes, but _should_ we?” Irial responded.

Harry nodded sagely. Sean looked a little scared, and Harry smiled resting a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry, you’ll be fine. You’ll be working with Izumi too. Salem’s sister. He’s sweet on her so he probably won’t abuse his interns overmuch. And I’ll feed you. Americans, if they’re not vegetarian/vegan/pescetarian have difficulty eating beyond fish and chips and the occasional under-salted burger.”

Sean smiled slightly. “So what you actually mean is that you don’t like to be lonely when Teddy’s gone for weeks at a time.”

“He visits me a lot when I tour Europe,” Theodore said innocently, looking over at him with a smirk. Harry crooked an eyebrow and tilted his head, waiting. “Probably too much. I’m supposed to be performing.”

“That’s performance.”

“Private performances aren’t the same thing.”

Irial gaped at them. “I can’t believe I didn’t figure it out. Blatant flirtation.”

“They can control themselves,” Rosie remarked with a lazy grin. “You, on the other hand, are, well, self-absorbed? You and Cris live on planet _you_. The rest of us can date and still realize the rest of the world is turning.”

“I resent that!” Irial exclaimed in disbelief.

“But it’s not untrue,” Harry teased, flicking Irial in the cheek when he turned to stick his tongue out.

“It’s time! It’s time! Come eat before it starts!” Donna called out from the table.

If there was one thing to guarantee everyone got into gear, it was the promise of food.

Like the wise old folk they were, Donna, Calvin, and their children had already filled their plates by the time everyone else beelined for the table. It was bit of a circus, a mad grab for food, and Theodore reached forward only to reel back. Rosie swatted Irial out of the way to steal the bag of potato chips and corn bread for herself and Violet. Irial glowered at her, and Rosie batted her eyelashes and blew him a kiss as she sat back down.

Theodore eyed the last hotdog, sitting on the platter in a fluffy potato bun. He narrowed his eyes and judged how many hands he’d have to dodge to grab it. Aisha moved in to snag the hotdog just as Harry swept it up with a brilliant smile and sat it on a plate with potato salad and a corn on the cob. He stared at it like he was mentally willing the plate to be sat down before him, yet was shocked when it was. Blinking in confusion, he stared up at Harry who only laughed and bent down to press a kiss to Theodore’s lips. Rosie offered him a cheeseburger on a paper plate, which he took smiling and sat down beside Theodore.

“Oh, you’re…” Both Theodore and Harry looked up at Peter whose eyes weren’t on Theodore but rather on Harry who regarded him evenly. “You’re Harry Benton-Sterling. Darling,” Theodore rolled his eyes at the flowery endearment, “you didn’t tell me you knew him.”

“He’s family,” Aisha answered without looking over at them. “Teddy’s married him.”

Theodore laughed bitterly and shook his head. She looked over at him, crooking an eyebrow. “You should get over it. That money was never gonna be yours anyway.”

“Not at the table children,” Donna said lightly.

“It’s an honor to meet you. I’m Peter—”

“Peter Frey. I know who you are,” Harry said.

Theodore eyebrows rose in surprise, looking over at him askance. Harry shrugged in answer.

“You sent me an email about a publicist for local campaigning that I ignored because you seem like the kind of self-important person who gets involved in politics for power rather than because it’s a necessary service job to help citizens. That’s how the game is played everywhere, but I don’t have to be a part of it.” Harry said with a shrug. “I don’t like politics. They overcomplicate simple problems. You have debt, pay it off. Don’t borrow what you can’t afford to pay back. Don’t spend money you don’t have. Don’t rob Peter to pay Paul. Don’t lie or cheat or steal. And just because you’re neighbor is squatting in your house doesn’t mean it’s theirs. Simple. I hate politics.”

“It’d be a lucrative field to expand into, though,” Rosie remarked offhandedly.

“You ready to be CEO?” Harry asked. Rosie reeled back like he’s struck her while Irial snickered. Theodore shook his head at their dramatics. Harry nodded sagely, “Then it’s a no on the political front.”

“Okay! Here it is! Here we go!” Sean shouted excitedly, clapping his hands.

“Draft Day,” Theodore said with a grin. “What’s he projected at?”

“Late first round or early second.” Curtis offered, leaning forward, engrossed in the commissioner’s opening.

“Not where he wants to be,” Uncle Sy added without even a backhanded compliment laced beneath his tone. Football was one of the rare times when the whole family could even pretend to get along like reasonable adults, and with Terell up for draft this year, they were even more invested. “Who’s picking first?”

“Green Bay. They’re not gonna take him. They don’t need a tight end right now,” said Wendell.

“Are they on the clock?”

“Something’s going on,” Rosie pointed out.

“They traded first pick!” Sean shouted, “What the fuck?”

“To who?” Calvin demanded.

“Oh! New Orleans!” Aisha shouted excitedly.

Harry leaned into him and whispered, “They were on the list, weren’t they?”

Theodore only tightened his grip on her hand, breath catching in his throat as they waited for the clock to run out. He breath caught when the note made it to the commissioner, a hush spreading over the family as they waited. Irial and Harry exchanged disbelieving looks, unused to this level of football intensity. Theodore dug his blunt nails into Harry’s skin as the anxiety intensified while Harry laughed under his breath and rested his hand atop Theodore’s.

“And the New Orleans Saints select Terell White, tight end, LSU.”

The camera panned to a shocked Terell sitting between his parents with his brother Elton looking dazed beside them.

The family leapt to their feet, hugging each other while Harry smiled and shook his head. Irial looked puzzled but accepted Rosie’s thrilled hug like he understood the proceedings. Grinning, Theodore caught Harry’s face in his hand and pressed a long, lingering kiss to his lips. Harry smiled and stared balefully up at him.

“You’re happy.”

Theodore nodded, grinning. “My cousin was the first pick in the NFL Draft.”

Harry smiled, eyes soft. “But are you _happy_?”

Startled, Theodore considered his question seriously, eyes skirting around to his grandparents laughing, his parents sharing giddy kisses like teenagers, his family for once happy for each other rather than itching to tear out throat, Irial and Rosie joking with Sean and Violet who were shrinking away from them while eyeing each other flirtatiously across the table. The three dogs played with each other further down the patio, and he turned back to Harry with a softer smile.

Leaning down, he pressed another kiss to Harry’s lips, resting their foreheads against each other and nodding, “Yeah, I’m happy.”

 


	58. "All the Stars" by Kendrick Lamar, SZA

**Text message from Harry**

**Harry:** No you cannot take all the dogs with you on tour.

**Harry:** Or the cats.

**Harry:** You can have Attila. Don’t make you team’s life difficult. I’ll bring Taizong and Wu Zetian to visit you.

**Teddy:** But…I want them all.

**Teddy:** Can I not?

**Harry:** I will actually murder you.

 

**Maverick (@MaverickOfficial)**

‘Dae Mul’ and ‘Because This Is My First Life’ I’m just saying #koreandramas

 

**Haaaaayyyyy (@Hailey4President)**

@MaverickOfficial is that what you do instead of preparing for tour?

 

**Maverick (@MaverickOfficial)**

@Hailey4President Korean dramas help me de-stress. I’ve been binge watching them for days.

 

**Marley Afwa (@Marley_Afwa)**

It’s always a good day when I get to shop with @MaverickOfficial @TiffToTayl @KatyLikesHerons #saksfifthavenue #neimanmarcus

 

**Elena Valence (@e_valence1997)**

@MaverickOfficial went shopping without me?

 

**Maverick (@MaverickOfficial)**

@e_valence1997 well no one told you to fly in four hours later than everyone else

 

**Harry Benton-Sterling (@HaroldBSterling)**

Okay but why are people who work out of nyc so crazy? Can I have a normal client? Why do I always get crazy clients? #rants

 

**Irish Rose (@rosieposie)**

@HaroldBSterling there’s a reason we always give you the new york based clients…

 

**Irial Dorian (@DorianII)**

@HaroldBSterlin @rosieposie beause he’s as crazy as they are!

 

**Text message from Theodore**

**Theodore:** Oscar and Washington have it under control.

**Theodore:** Claire and Marceline are on their way there.

**Theodore:** You can just meet me after. At the party? Let Rory handle fieldwork. And Jamie.

**Harry:** This is me ignoring ur party comment.

**Theodore:** Please…you’re in the city anyway.

**Harry:** Party though…

**Theodore:** Fine fine go be cool and go to dinner with business people. But come pick me up?

**Harry:** When?

**Theodore:** Like 11pm. It’s 3hrs to get back to the Hamptons almost.

**Harry:** I’ll be cool and go schmooze at dinner and then pick you up.

**Theodore:** Don’t flirt with anyone cuter than me.

**Harry:** I’ll take it under consideration but no promises ;P

 

**Group MMS**

**Rosie:** His fans are wild…

**Irial:** Aren’t they great? I’m following they’re Tumblr tag.

**Rosie:** Me too!

**Harry:** Rosie at least better be doing this for work.

**Rosie:** Sure…

**Irial:** XD

**Irial:** They think you two are living in wedded bliss with a harem of pets, multiple houses, and great sex.

**Harry:** They’re like scary good.

**Rosie:** I’m dying…nobody talk to me…lmfao

* * *

Marceline yanked the denim jacket off him while Claire hurried to fix his hair. There was no reason for either of them to appear so stressed since he’d gotten here nearly an hour before the broadcast so they could review all of their options. Theodore studied his reflection in the mirror, black skinny jeans ripped at the knee, a gold-embossed Balmain t-shirt, long unbuttoned shirt, and a pair of leather boots.

“We have to go,” Rory said with exasperation, gaping at the two of them. “Is this your first day?”

“He looks—!”

“Fine,” Theodore cut them off, snagging a leather jacket off the rack and mussing his hair, three French braids holding back the hair from palling completely into her face. “I look fine. Let’s go.” He waved at the two frazzled women, shaking his head and following Rory outside where he greeted the PA and turned to Rory, shaking his head with a grin. “My tour manager’s stressing them out. Apparently a bunch of their stuff got lost from being FedExed in Los Angeles.”

Rory scoffed, “I don’t care. They’re being idiots. Harry called me.”

Theodore’s lips curved up into an automatic smile. “Yeah? What’s he up to?”

“Apparently he’s having dinner with Jesse Godfrey, the CEO of _People_ and _Rumor_ , as well as a bunch of super-rich people and this woman heading a modeling agency. I don’t know. Something pretentious.”

He laughed a little and nodded his head. “He said it was okay?”

Rory glanced over at him. “He said it was ‘doable.’ So I guess that means you’re welcome to do as you please.”

“It’s a noncommittal yes from him, but I’m sure he’s tired of the speculation.” Theodore said grinning. They paused at the edge of the sound stage, and Theodore turned to Rory, studying the woman silently. She glanced up at him and took a step back in surprise. He smiled at her softly. “I’m sorry Rory. I think I’ve been so caught up in _me_ that I haven’t really paid much attention to you. Have you been home to see your family?”

Blushing Rory laughed uncertainly before admitting, “Harry gave me time off.”

“Course he did,” Theodore agreed. “Do you think you deserve a raise?”

“A…raise…what?”

“You put up with a lot. I put you through a lot. You and Washington, do you think you deserve a raise?”

Rory blustered, “I get paid a lot.”

Theodore nodded thoughtfully as the PA tried to guide him towards his seat on the stage. He paused and looked back at her. “But you should get paid what you’re worth. And you’re worth than I’m paying you. You proved that. You both did.” Rory shook her head in disbelief while Theodore smiled and tossed her his cell phone. “Don’t worry I’ll remember to tell Harry.”

“Is that what I said?” Rory demanded.

He laughed and allowed the PA to the seat beside Tiffany Taylor. She grinned and waved at him, having seen him earlier when they both when out with Marley. She tossed her ombre hair over her shoulder and offered him a playful fist bump as he walked passed to sit in the chair beside her. Across from them, the Ready Real’s host, Henry Min, adjusted his bow tie and winked at the two of them playfully.

“We ready?” He mouthed and looked over at them.

They held their thumbs up and grinned at each other while a member of staff silenced the audience.

“Welcome to this evening’s The Ready Real TV Show, I’m your host Henry Min and tonight with have with us everyone’s favorite California girl actress, Tiffany Taylor,” the audience clapped while Tiffany grinned and waved, “and international phenomenon, Maverick.” He winced dramatically as the crowd cheered, hushing them until they laughed. “You two saw each other earlier today, didn’t you?”

“Yeah,” they agreed with a smile.

Tiffany elbowed him lightly. “He shops with _way_ more excitement than me.”

Theodore covered his blushing cheeks with his hands, shaking his head. “I don’t.”

Henry turned to him then. “You look great.”

“Me?” Theodore asked with a timid smile. “You’re such a sweet liar. I look tired. I’m tired. I want to go to bed, but I’ve to agreed to party with _you_ after this so I’m outta luck.”

“You’re tired?” Henry gasped dramatically. “I thought you came out to New York for vacation. Workin’ hard or hardly workin’?”

“Hardly workin’ come on now, give me a little bit of credit!” Theodore said, grinning as the audience laughed. Henry scoffed but didn’t interrupt. “No, my choreographer’s a drill sergeant. I came all the way out here for vacation before the tour starts up, but he followed me! No rest for the wicked I guess, but this’ll be the best damned tour I ever put on at this rate. If it’s this much stress, it better be amazing.”

“All your tours are amazing!” Tiffany expressed genuinely.

Theodore nodded, “I agree. This one’ll be the best though.”

“You’re going away for two years almost,” Henry expressed in slight disbelief while Theodore only nodded in agreement. “I don’t want to pry, but I’ve been curious about couples who spend so much time apart. Is two something you’ll be able to withstand?”

Theodore shrugged, unsurprised by the question and unburdened by the attempt to dig into his life. Henry, he knew, really didn’t mean to pry. His last relationship had ended rather disastrously with a fragile singer/songwriter who hadn’t told him she wasn’t interested in monogamy until she’d slept her way through most of his close circle of friends. Henry had never been forward enough or comfortable enough with Theodore to outright ask how he managed his four-year relationship, especially having met and been sufficiently intimidated by Harry once before.

“I mean it’s complicated, right? Two years is a long time. I get two to four weeks off between tour legs depending on where I’m going and where I’m coming from. My pa…girlfriend can travel fairly freely. It’ll be more difficult since the Olympics are going on this summer, but we put in an effort to make time for each other. I’m actually told that my girlfriend makes time for _me_ not the other way around but considering I sold my time for two years pretty much there’s no time for creating any out of thin air. I do my best. My girlfriend does better. And we make it work.”

“That’s so sweet,” Tiffany said with a delighted laugh. She shook her head and held up a hand while Theodore crooked one eyebrow with a dangerous smile on his face. “No, I’m sorry. It’s just I can’t make time for a partner working with me on set. I barely make time for my assistant to go over my daily schedule, but you two make time to intercontinental dating?”

“It’s a good time.” Theodore deadpanned with a shrug.

Henry gaped, “You’re saying you have _no_ time?”

“Yeah, I mean, I’m gonna have to call bullshit,” Theodore argued. Tiffany looked over at him with a brittle smile, a warning lurking in the depths of her eyes that he disregarded with a bright, dismissive smile. “If you don’t want to date seriously, then just say you don’t want to date. Long distance dating is hard, but there’s always _time_. It’s like when people say they divorce because they have no time for each other and then immediately start dating afterwards. They had time, they just didn’t want to make time for each other. I want to make time. I want to see my partner—not all the time, we get on each other’s nerves—but a lot of the time. I at least want to share the same city. I don’t have time to fly to London to visit. I won’t have time to fly to Tokyo, but I have _time_.”

Henry whistled slowly and looked between the two of them, unsure whether or not he wanted to intervene.

“So you think I’m just uninterested in a serious relationship?”

“Is that what I said?” Theodore demanded in response, shrugging his shoulders dismissively.

“And what is a person who hides their girlfriend four years? I would have left a man that didn’t marry me after four years.”

“What an antiquated way of thinking,” Theodore said in disappointment, shaking his head while Tiffany colored, sparing a glimpse towards the crowd—the crowd of young mostly girls who were no more enthused by her words than Theodore. “If someone said that to my sisters, I’m hunt them down. Relationships take two people and that means two sets of opinions. And are more than marriage or not marriage, kids or no kids. But just for your incorrect information, I did marry my girlfriend about a year ago. But even if I didn’t, it’s not because I don’t respect my partner or think she’s marriage material. It would be a mutual decision we made together.”

“What?” Some girl from the audience gasped.

“Pay up,” her friend whispered victoriously over the shocked whispers from the crowd. Theodore turned to Henry and grinned playfully.

Henry blinked at him, stunned. “You’re married?”

“I’m married.”

“So your song ‘Commitment’…?”

“Was actually about getting married. About _me_ getting married more specifically.”

Henry nodded slowly before slumping into his seat and shaking his head in absolute disbelief. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me you got married. Me personally. We’re friends, right? I thought we were friends.”

“We’re friends,” Theodore agreed with a smile and a shrug. “I don’t think we told anyone outside of family, actually. Everything else about our relationship is like next-level private. Is it really a surprise I waited this long to tell anyone?”

Henry looked delighted while Tiffany looked shell-shocked. “Was it the happiest day of your life?” Henry cried with excitement. He’d had marriage fever as long as Theodore had known him. Marriage, babies, domesticity, Henry wanted all of that and a bag of chips.

“It was a surprise so…” Theodore shrugged while Henry balked. Tiffany looked over at him in absolute incredulity. Blushing slightly, Theodore confessed, “There was this haphazard proposal I made before I went to rehab that was obviously declined because of a pregnancy scare and, you know, rehab. But after I got out there was wedding prepared, which was awesome but so, so surprising.”

“You got married overseas but didn’t know? You have to fill out a lot of paperwork for that.”

Theodore grimaced and raised a finger to her lips. “We don’t talk about it. I’m pretty sure it’s basically fraud, but it’s okay I’m here for it. Best surprise ever.”

* * *

The party looked like trouble before he even walked through the door.

Wild parties weren’t shocking from Henry, and they were undoubtedly a contributing factor as to why he could never manage to date someone longer than a couple months or someone who took him seriously. If Harry had walked into a party like this and known Theodore was throwing it, then he would have turned on his heel and marched right out like they’d never had any kind of relationship at all. It was a wonder none of Henry’s neighbors had called the cops yet.

Henry’s Soho loft was a gorgeous bachelor’s pad from its open concept floor plan to its exposed brick walls. The colors were dark, the furniture leather and capable of weathering even the wildest parties. Lighting was dim contributing to a sensual atmosphere that the thumping house music only helped to elicit, and bodies were crowded wall to wall in every square inch of the apartment’s space. A heavy cloud of smoke tinged the already dim atmosphere with a gray film, but the acrid smell of tobacco was laced with the stench of marijuana that people smoked openly, inhaling from the bluff with one hand and taking a sip of their beer with the other.

Some people writhed wildly as they danced together and a couple others were reclined on the sofa, tongues intertwined and hands roving freely over each other’s bodies as though there weren’t a room full of people surrounding them. Some of whom perched on the arm of the sofa on either side of them, cup in hand.

A girl circling her hips as she danced to the music shoved a cup into Theodore’s hand as she passed, tossing him a flirtatious smile and winking before squealing and throwing herself into Henry’s arms. Theodore looked around, heart racing. He set the cup down on the table like it had burned him and crossed his arms over his chest, trying hard to ignore the burning desire to take a drink, a smoke, anything. He cleared his throat and tucked a curl behind his ear, glancing around the room for a lifeboat of any kind.

Marley was supposed to be here, but there was no sign of her.

Henry had thrown away polite behavior and was grinding between a rail thin up-and-coming model and a male fashion photographer Theodore felt reasonably assured Henry had dated before.

His eyes landed momentarily at a group crowded around a table. A male model sat shirtless and cross-legged on a chair, dyed blond hair hanging over his eye as he bent over a pile of white powder, separating it into thin lines. A slim musical theater actress Theodore had before rolled a dollar bill and bent down to sniff a line, scratching her nose with her finger and passing the dollar bill to the man beside her.

Leaning against the wall with a cup in her hand, Tiffany smirked at him and took the dollar bill when it was offered to her. Instead of taking a sniff, she prowled over to him, tapping the rolled bill against her bottom lip and smiling playfully.

“You want a hit?” Theodore stared her, huffing out a disbelieving laugh, curling his fingers into his forearm to feel the bite of his nails against his skin. “It wasn’t really a question. I know you do. I can see it on your face.”

“What’s your problem with me? You’ve been like this all day except now we’ve given up the pretense of friendliness. I appreciate it,” he said, fighting to keep his voice from wavering. Between the dollar bill, the alcohol, and cocaine sitting on the table, Theodore’s resolve was faltering fast. Tiffany grinned, spinning the rolled bill between her fingers and placing a hand on his chest. He reeled back and tensed as she tapped the end of the bill against his lips.

“You embarrassed me on live television. I don’t take that lightly.” Tiffany said with a cold smirk, tilting her head.

Theodore pressed his lips together and frowned at the powder pressed on them. Automatically his tongue reached out to brush off the foreign substance only for his body to grow taut, the single taste reverberating through his system. He released a shuddering breath, eyes on the table and bill being pushed into his palm.

“Let’s not lie about desires, hmm?” Tiffany whispered in his ear before prodding him towards the table.

He clenched his fist around the bill.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What a cliffhanger to leave you under. This does have a happy ending, I wouldn't be cool with sitting through 200K+ words and then having the characters break up, but this is also one of my most realistic stories in this series provided you take his years and years of addiction with suspended skepticism because he handled drugs much better than most people do. It will get wrapped up within the next few chapters but not deep into their future. I'm probably going to write a short story about their future featuring grownup Raleigh and Aubrey


	59. "Bad At Love" by Halsey

**Text message from Rosie**

**Rosie:** Did you see what your boy did?

 **Harry:** No

 **Harry:** Should I look?

 **Harry:** Is it chaos?

 

**MAVERATICSUNITE (@2253109kalaJ)**

Married?! He’s MARRIED? Maverick is MaRrIeD…#imdying #maveratics #saveme

 

**The Lion Queen (@sassysavvy)**

WHAAAAAAA? I mean I suspected by having this confirmed is like some next level shiiiiit #maveratics

 

**Bette not Betty (@dancingqueen17)**

What the actual FUUUUUUUCK YUSSSSS he’s married. who’s putting money down on the bride identity? #maveratics #maverickmarriage

 

**Not for Sale (@LikeSallyhanson)**

Married! Married! Married! I’m soooooooooo excited! I knew it! I knew it! I knew it! #maveratics #tinhattersunite

 

**Halley (@all_or_nothing_nyc)**

Congrats to @MaverickOfficial we’re all wishing you the best in your nuptials and thanking you for getting some of us $50 richer #maveratics

 

**Maverick (@MaverickOfficial)**

@all_or_nothing_nyc glad to be of service ;)

 

**Tiffany Taylor (@TiffToTayl)**

Partying just brings out the worst in some people…

 

**Text message from Harry**

**Harry:** I’m heading out now. Where am I going?

 **Harry:** Theodore? Theodore?

 **Harry:** Teddy I’m getting worried.

 **Harry:** I still don’t know where this is. I’ve never been to Henry’s

 

**Text message from Harry**

**Harry:** Do you have Henry’s number?

 **Rosie:** Is that all you need?

 **Harry:** I’d rather just have his address.

 **Rosie:** Sully knows.

 **Harry:** Of course he does.

 

**Text message from Harry**

**Harry:** I already know I will get there and you will be all fucked up. Please just answer

* * *

Harry climbed out of the taxi and tipped his head back to stare up at the building. From the ground it didn’t look like much, a light gray door that blended with the white façade of the building. The store on the ground floor was closed for the evenings, the metal shutters pulled down to keep robbers or vandals from smashing the display windows and a fire escape running up the front of the building.

SoHo wasn’t quiet, though the street was. Further down on the main road people walked around grabbing meals or wandering to the subway from the nearest clubs on their way home. On the highest floor of the building, a group of people sat out on the balcony smoking cigarettes and flicking the ashes in a red solo cup between them. The open windows allowed the thrumming bass of the exceptionally loud music to flow out into the streets along with the stomach-churning stench of marijuana.

He sighed and pushed as the propped open from door, climbing the five floors to the penthouse apartment.

The door was unlocked, and he let himself in sighing as he eyed the stereotypical Hollywood debauchery enlivening the loft’s interior. Harry readjusted the fedora perched on the crown of his head and looked around the room with a disbelievingly laugh. A den of sin, that’s what Sully had called Henry’s house when he’d sent over a message with the address in it, and Harry could understand the feeling.

He was overdressed for a party was it was in a blazer, dress slacks, and a four hundred dollar Givenchy scarf twined around his neck. But considering the sheer amount of nudity, Harry would have been overdressed if he’d come just in pants. A girl tripped over her stiletto heels, tottering dangerously while drunk and land on Harry. She pressed a kiss to his neck and giggled while he pried her off, delivering her back into the arms of the man who’d been stumbling along behind her.

Henry, he spotted with ease. As always when he saw him, Harry felt a pang of sadness. Henry had been an absolute star in China both with acting and singing, though he kept that mostly underwraps. A series of scandals—a series of _sex_ scandals—had effectively ended his career and made him close to impossible to hire. He had a terrible reputation in Asia and had come to America to shed his reputation.

Looking at him now, Harry didn’t think it had worked quite the way he’d planned. His descent into hedonism wasn’t a good look, and professionally, Harry looked at him and wanted to mop him up with a sponge. Henry was promising but problematic and disinclined to stop his behavior no matter how it affected his love life. And boy was he a hopeless romantic. Their few interactions had been Henry gushing about wanting to get married, have goods, and a pack of dogs he could love like a lonely seventy-year-old cat lady with no friends to play bridge with. The reality looked something like this, and no one would seriously consider dating Henry at his hedonistic low.

Marley had arrived but looked as disenchanted with the party as Harry. In jeans and a t-shirt, she looked like she’d rolled out of bed and held the cup in her hand like she was willing it into nonbeing. She stood nervously between Israel and Tinzy Ulrich, a pair of eccentric writers. And Harry had a moment to wonder where Tinzy’s better half was before Sinclair Tatu appeared with a cigarette hanging from his mouth and a bag of McDonalds in hand as he went through the doors. He paused as he swept passed Harry to study him thoughtfully, flashing him a playful smile before heading over to Isral and Tinzy. The latter pressed a swift kiss to his lips while Marley crossed her eyes and grinned, stealing a fry from the bag and locking eyes with Harry, smile falling.

‘Where’s Theodore?’ She mouthed but Harry could only shrug.

“Hey you!” Someone cried cheerfully, and he turned to find Jazz, Israel’s girlfriend, grinning at him and looking as overdressed as him. In a glittering slip dress and dripping Swarovski crystals, Jazz pressed a dry kiss to his cheek and took a sip of her drink with a broad smile. “Where’s your worse half? Better half? It’s hard to tell with the two of you.”

“Says you. Just because you’re shiny doesn’t mean Israel doesn’t have a shinier personality.”

“Rude,” Jazz purred, patting his chest and leaning in to whisper in his ear. “If you’re looking for your boy, last time I saw him was over the flunkies and Tiff. They had a talk, and I lost sight of them.”

“Fuck,” Harry glanced over at the table unable to see the full extent of the damage through the crowd.

Jazz nodded and pulled back with an apologetic smile.

“I guess Marley wasn’t here then.”

“Sorry boo,” Jazz said shaking her head and patting his shoulder as she walked over to her partner and friends.

Weaving through the crowd, Harry followed where she’d pointed but a single unobstructed view of the table revealed why she’d called them ‘flunkies’ and exactly what the title meant. There was a horde of them crowded around the table in various states of undress with powder remnants on the table that Austin Humphrey was desperately trying to make into substantial enough lines to snort. Harry didn’t think he’d once seen the model sober in all the times they’d run into each other. His brief stint with Anise from Scarlet Letters had petrified him with fear that they’d end up in a drug-induced orgy together that made the front page of every gossip magazine from London to Korea.

It hadn’t happened, but it could have.

What worried him more was the sight of Tiffany Taylor perched on the kitchen counter watching their drug-fueled frenzy with a complicated expression on her face. Half-triumphant smirk, half self-directed frustration. When her hazel eyes landed on Harry watching her silently, her face smoothed out lips curving up in a smirk. She hopped off the counter leaving her beer behind and met him halfway.

“What did you do?” Harry asked automatically.

Tiffany’s smile widened. “Does you husband know? That we used to date.”

“We used to fuck,” Harry corrected her coolly, not letting her mention of their history derail him from picking her apart. Because he knew Tiffany well-enough to know she’d done _something_ that she knew she shouldn’t have for reasons she couldn’t totally understand. Everyone had their vices, and Tiffany played dangerous mind games. “That was a long time ago, and there was no reason for me to tell him specifically.”

Harry’s eyes darted over to the table, narrowing at the rolled dollar bill in Austin’s hand before returning to Tiffany. She licked her lips automatically and looked away but not soon enough for Harry to miss her slightly dilated pupils.

“So it was you.” Harry said tonelessly. “Where is he?”

Tiffany pursed her lips and studied him mulishly, “Your hubby can’t keep away from cocaine but it’s _my_ fault.”

“Alcohol, I’d buy that in a second. He can’t seem to stay away from the stuff. But cocaine, he’s too afraid I’ll leave him. He would have left and smoked a cigarette outside until I got here. So, what did you do and where is he?”

“Secret weddings. Fetching him like a dog. Marriage at all. How surprising from you, Harry. I never pegged you for a hopeless romantic.”

Harry’s expression sobered, and he turned to her with such devoted focus that she flinched back. “I know you better than that. You didn’t do this because you’re some scorned ex-lover who’s pissy we never got serious. Despite your public blunder today, you have no aspirations for being someone’s wife and don’t care enough to fight over a man. So what is it actually? Inferiority complex strike again?”

Tiffany winced and looked away, a flash of vulnerability over her face.

“You’re too Indie for Henry to have on his show without someone else to draw in crowds. And since you didn’t start your Indie career by playing Bella Swan, they needed someone else. I told him not to do the show with you for this exact reason. Famous people are so fucking needy,” Harry huffed and glared at her. “Where’s Theodore?”

Shame crossed her face and she hooked her thumb over her shoulder to the closed door at the back of the house. Harry started forward, pausing when Tiffany gripped his arm. “Harry, I’m sorry. I don’t know what happened I just…”

“You always do, Tiff. That’s kinda the problem.”

Shaking off her hold, Harry wove through the apartment and twisted the knob on the door. The couple entwined on Henry’s immaculate bed looked up in shock while Harry sighed and shook his head.

“Out. Get out,” the order was met with immediate compliance.

He slammed the door shut behind them and turned to the bathroom door. From outside, he could hear labored breaths and shuttering sobs. Palm kissing the cool door, he gripped the knob and turned it. Locked. Grimacing, Harry slammed his fist against the door.

“Theodore.”

A shaky inhale from behind the door was followed by a soft, tremulous, “Harry?”

He clenched his jaw, eyes prickling with tears he refused to shed. He brushed his palm harshly over his forehead, raking his fingers through his hand knocking his hat to the floor. Voice thick, Harry answer, “Yeah, babe, it’s me. Can you let me in?”

There was silence from the other side and another panicked sob.

“It only took one taste right? I was gonna leave. I wanted to leave but then I tasted it and I needed more. And it felt great, but it shouldn’t. I should know better. I should be stronger than that.”

Harry banged his clenched fist on his thigh and swallowed thickly.

“Let me in Theodore.”

Again, silence and muffled sobs. Harry waited, forehead against the doorframe and hands clenched into painfully tight fists. He heard the click of the lock turning and breathed softly in relief, straightening and calming as much as he could to meet a single red, dilated, teary teal eye peeking out through the crack.

“Are you mad?”

“Are you scared?”

Theodore watched him warily before he nodded slowly.

“Let me in, Teddy.”

Another glimmer of hesitation flashed across Theodore’s face before he opened the door slowly. Harry slipped inside, shutting the door behind him and turning the lock. Theodore sank back onto the floor, knees pulled up to his chest and arms wrapped around them. He buried his face against his upturned knees, chest heaving and slipping dangerously close to hyperventilation.

Harry crouched down beside him, hesitating for a moment before resting a hand on his head. Theodore shuddered for a moment, relaxing infinitesimally before tensing up again. Tears welled in his eyes again and Harry wiped them away angrily. He ran his fingers through Theodore’s hair until his body relaxed and breathing returned to something vaguely resembling normal. Shifting, Harry sat down beside Theodore on the floor and running a hand gently through his hair until Theodore shuddered and scooted closer, relaxing against Harry.

They sat silently on the floor of Henry’s bathroom, huddled against each other, only breathing.

“Are you going to leave me?” Theodore spoke finally in a soft, terrified whisper.

Harry tilted his head back against the bathroom wall and considered how to say this. There therapy sessions with Dr. Coltrain had been helping to stabilize some of their intrinsic issues and curtail self-destructive behavior. But Harry had clear lines that he’d drawn before, and their relationship hinged majorly on Theodore’s continued sobriety. The idea that he could fall off the wagon any time and in spectacular fashion terrified both of them. But addiction was tricky and love was merciless.

“I knew you’d fail,” Harry answered. Theodore jolted and tilted his head to look up at Harry’s face. Shrugging, Harry said, “You took cocaine for over ten years. You _survived_ on cocaine for over ten years. That’s a long time, and it was your primarily coping mechanism when life overloaded you. I knew the minute you told me how long you’d been on them that rehab or not you would fail.”

Theodore flinched and shifted away from him, eyes welling with tears. “Then why…?”

“Because it doesn’t matter,” Harry answered honestly. “Cocaine, addiction, you can’t kick it in a day. Some people can get through rehab and never touch the stuff again, but most people don’t. I knew you’d drink and smoke and probably do cocaine again. It was more likely than not, but life is full of possibilities and failures and mistakes. Some we can come back from and some we can’t. I’m not under any illusions. This is going to be a lifelong struggle, and I knew that before I married you. I knew that before I dated you.”

“And you’re up for that?” Theodore asked with a bitter laugh, angrily wiping the tears from his eyes.

Harry laughed woodenly and looked over at Theodore. He smiled at him softly and cupped his face in his hand, brushing the wayward tears off his cheeks. Theodore winced, caught off guard by the tenderness.

“I don’t have infinite patience, and we both know I have a line.” Theodore looked away guiltily. Harry shook his head until Theodore met his eyes again. “I love you. And as long as you keep trying, I’ll stay and fight with you. I believe in you. And I trust you. I know you think I don’t, but I do. You’re not who you were four years ago or last your or even an hour ago. You’ll be stronger tomorrow than you are today. And I’ll love you either way.”

Theodore face twisted as he broke down into sobbing, leaning against Harry as he cried himself into exhaustion.

Later, when the tears had slowed and they’d both calmed, Harry looked down at Theodore who had shifted to lay his head in Harry’s lap, hands entwined over his heart and Harry running his fingers through his hair. He opened his eyes slowly and met Harry’s gaze seriously.

“I’m not okay.”

Harry nodded in agreement.

“I want an addiction counselor to come on tour with me to help keep me sober.”

“Rory’s finishing getting her certificate for it. She’ll be certified by the time tour starts, and Washington got CPR certified in case anything happens. I already gave them raises. You’re covered. Anything else?”

“I want to go back to rehab during my first tour break.”

“We can do that.”

Theodore tightened his grip on Harry’s hand and held his gaze seriously. “Are you sure you want to stay with me? I know I’m a fuck up. And I know that this isn’t going to be as easy as I thought it was. And I know you don’t want to deal with this.”

Harry sighed and bent down to press a kiss to Theodore’s lips, silencing him before he could continue. They mouths moved together slowly. Hand tightening in Theodore’s ahir just enough to elicit a soft gasp, tongue sweeping into his mouth to caress lazily over Theodore’s. He pulled back as Theodore stared up at him dazed. He stroked a hand over Theodore’s hair and allowed his mask to slip enough to reveal the vulnerability he hid from everyone.

“Yeah, you’re a fuck up. And I don’t want to deal with this. But you’re the only one I allow to see every side of me; you’re the only one who wants to see beyond the veneer. And I love you than I thought I was capable. More than enough to put up with things I shouldn’t. And more than enough to gamble my future on. You can fuck me up, but I’m willing bet that you won’t.”

Theodore smiled and pulled him into a kiss.


	60. "Say You Won't Let Go" by James Arthur

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What a ride! It's a little later than when I said I'd deliver this book (although I'm still waiting on the last book of a series I read at age 12 so not that late) but it's here. Thank you to everyone who read this (and the whole series, I don't always answer but I also see your comments and appreciate them). I intend to write a book about Alina/Ali but that won't be until summer, but there will be a shorter story about foster kids.

**Text message from Rosie**

**Rosie:** I just got an email from Rumor Mag.

**Rosie:** Is there a plan?

**Harry:** I’ll call them back.

**Harry:** There’s a plan.

**Rosie:** Clue me in…?

 

**Maverick (@MaverickOfficial)**

And so it begins #StressFracturesWorldTour in NYC tonight with @QuinnTripp @NoMansLandBand

 

**Teddy Langston (@TM_1996)**

@K9_Crosby come see me in ATL?

 

**Dakota Crosby (@K9_Crosby)**

Of course of course but only if you’re buying beer and bringing Attila the Hun

 

**Teddy Langston (@TM_1996)**

If by beer you mean milkshakes and by Attila you mean my bff who you’re secretly dating. We have a deal.

 

**Dakota Crosby (@K9_Crosby)**

O.O where do you get your information???

 

To: jessegodfrey@godfreygroup.com; jamiedutch@sterlingandireland.co.uk; prestonduke@godfreygroup.com; rosemaryireland@sterlingandireland.co.uk; alexandersullivan@sterlingandireland.co.uk; brandongreer@sterlingandireland.co.uk; olive.rinehardt@titaniumrecords.com

From: haroldbsterling@sterlingandireland.co.uk

Subject: 3-Year Plan Meeting

Obviously it will be more difficult for Preston and Jamie as they’re on tour with Maverick, but we’ll have to coordinate. Over the next three we have to discuss what will be happening over the next three years, the ramifications, and exactly what everyone needs out of this arrangement. It’s already been discussed with Maverick and now needs pending approval from everyone else involved. We everyone’s input and participation I imagine this will go quite smoothly, but if there are reservations we’ll need to discuss them in this meeting, and yes, Preston, when Theodore presses he can attend via Skype also.

Best,

Harry Benton-Sterling

 

**Maverick’s collaborative album drops to massive success**

The jokes were ongoing about Maverick’s tendency to over-involve himself in the music scene, but his magic with formulating incredible collaborations isn’t in question. His collaborative album with several people in the music industry has been highly anticipated and also highly criticized before it even released. Almost two months into his world tour, the album, _Picking Up Pieces_ , debuted without any warning on iTunes. With no warning and no press, the album still shot to number one in twenty countries within a day. Some of the highlights were Elena Valence and Alina Rosen’s _Mind Games_ , Cris Emerson, Dali, and Chesapeake Maro’s _Does It Make You Mad?,_ Maverick and Dido Lynn Darby’s _Regret_ , and Maverick, America Castillo, Henry Min, and Santiago Reyes’s _International._ When asked about the surprise release during his tour, Maverick’s only response was, “What’s life without a little shock?”

 

**Elena Valence (@e_valence1997)**

@AlinaAzadi we sound damn good.

 

**Alina Rosen (@AlinaAzadi)**

@e_valence1997 that’s only becaue @MaverickOfficial knows how to autotune.

 

**Maverick (@MaverickOfficial)**

Lies, lies, and more lies! @AlinaAzadi @e_valence1997

 

**Text message from Theodore**

**Theodore:** I’m never using my two-day break to go to a gala ever again

**Theodore:** Especially not one throw by Samuel Beck

**Harry:** 100% agree. Yikes.

 

**Harry Benton-Sterling (@HaroldBSterling)**

I’m not gonna lie I’m very impressed with Tokyo. But I feel like I do need fried chicken @SalemDaiki help me out here.

 

**Salem Petrov (@SalemDaiki)**

@HaroldBSterling should I come to you? I’ll come to you. Beer and chicken and the Tokyo Olympics!

 

**Maverick returns to rehab**

About two and a half months into his Stress Fractures World Tour, Maverick took his month-long break between his North American and European tour legs to check himself back into rehab. The twenty-four year old popstar released a statement regarding the return to rehab saying, “I haven’t totally relapsed, but the realization of how easily that could happen really shok me. I need to ensure that I had a solid and stable foundation in plan to cope with my habits in order to fully overcome my addiction. That’s something that requires practice and continued institution. I’m only going back to rehab between the tour legs in order to take care of myself and provide myself with a steady platform to build my future on. It’s up to me to stay healthy and safe. And it’s something I can’t do without help.” He checked into a rehab center outside of Sedona, Arizona and has made no plans to stay indefinitely.

 

**Group MMS: Harry, Theodore, Rosie, Violet, Irial, Sean, Terell, Crystal, Izumi**

**Violet:** Yes, Sean and I are dating.

**Terell:** Harry and Iri better pay up. I said so.

**Irial:** That’s like borderline incestuous.

**Harry:** Its weird but I think incestuous is a bit of a stretch.

**Theodore:** Let the kids be weird.

**Sean:** You’re how many years old than me? Five? Four?

**Harry:** I’m older than you so pipe down pipsqueak the adults are talking.

**Crystal:** Adults…where?

**Teddy Langston (@TM_1996)**

It’s always a good day when my boyfriend wakes me up with a blowjob in Madrid.

 

**Dakota Crosby (@K9_Crosby)**

@TM_1996 I feel like this is too much information.

 

**Lie Away Home (@54_lylanecolt)**

@TM_1996 @K9_Crosby I don’t I’m living vicariously through you.

 

**Harry Benton-Sterling (@HaroldBSterling)**

@54_lylanecolt I know who you are WhatsApp girl.

 

**Teddy Langston (@TM_1996)**

@HaroldBSterling @54_lylanecolt yikes

 

**Maverick (@MaverickOfficial)**

Can I admit I hate Halloween yet? I’m playing a show Halloween so that’s good but I hate Halloween. Boring but candy so #shrugs

 

**Maverick (@MaverickOfficial)**

@BenjiDIrving I’m sorry I’m stealing @rosieposie since she brought thanksgiving (and @Jo_Ade @clearascrystal @shootingstarsApollo) to me :*

 

**Text message from Harry**

**Harry:** Where do you want to go for Christmas?

**Theodore:** Home. Our home. Where we live.

**Harry:** You want them to come to us?

**Theodore:** If it means I don’t ever have to leave my house yes.

**Theodore:** If it means they come early in the morning before you have time to fuck me into unconsciousness then maybe we can delay xmas indefinitely?

**Harry:** Ridiculous.

**Harry:** I’ll handle it.

 

**Benji Irving (@BenjiDIrving)**

When you propose and she says ‘as long as we divide assets and you don’t expect kids, compensation, or housewifery from me’ #engaged #stop it

 

**Irish Rose (@rosieposie)**

@BenjiDIrving covering my bases for when your mother demands a prenup. Never mind that my career has more longevity. Whatevs. I’ll let it go.

 

**Maverick takes home a Grammy (metaphorically)**

Speculation has abounded about Maverick’s chances taking home a Grammy for his laude album, _Stress Fractures_ , which detailed his addiction, recovery, and relationships. There was speculation that conflicts with the Grammy voting committee would make Maverick and outlier, but not only was he nominated, the popstar won Album of the Year for _Stress Fractures_ , Record of the Year for ‘Commitment’, and Song of the Year for collaboration with Dido Lynn Darby on her album ‘Look At Me.’ as well as number of awards for writing, producing, and vocal credits on some of his work on collaborative album, _Picking Up Pieces._ Maverick was on tour and couldn’t attend, his awards were collected by Alina Rosen who won Best New Artist. When asked how he felt, Maverick responded by, apparently, crying.

 

To: jamiedutch@sterlingandireland.co.uk

Cc: haroldbsterling@sterlingandireland.co.uk

From: teddymaverick96@gmail.com

Subject: RE: Rebranding

To clarify,

Does Titanium want the album released before or after? It just seemed smarter to do it during release, correct? That seems more logical to weave it in with album publicity.

Maverick

 

**Text message from Theodore**

**Theodore:** I know it’s late. I’m sorry

**Theodore:** I should be asleep too actually. I have to be up in like 2hrs for the concert

**Theodore:** I’m just stressing out a little bit.

**Theodore:** It’s a lot of pressure you know?

**Theodore:** Nevermind I should stop texting you I’m sorry.

**Harry:** You have writers block?

**Theodore:** What do I say?

**Harry:** This time? Anything you want. And let us worry about how to present it.

**Theodore:** Anything.

**Harry:** Anything.

**Harry:** Should I come to meet you in Russia?

**Theodore:** Please.

 

**Harry Benton-Sterling (@HaroldBSterling)**

@SalemDaiki ok but you didn’t say Russia was this fucking cold. I’m cold.

 

**Text message from Rosie**

**Rosie:** I want to hire Maggie Gallagher.

**Harry:** If she pulls a Georgia Hanson on us I’ll flip tables.

**Rosie:** I want to be CEO too.

**Harry:** Should we schedule a meeting? Nando’s? Happy hour? Congrats on being an adult.

**Rosie:** Invite Iri.

**Harry:** Of course ;)

 

**Text message from Santi**

**Santi:** I don’t know what you’re talking about. They’re good.

**Santi:** Have you sent the sappy lyrics to Harry?

**Theodore:** Holy fuck can we not????????

**Santi:** I’ll start getting the studio musicians on it.

 

**Tumblr Post: redditandweep**

**On Maverick and the sexuality debate**

Here’s the problem with all this, whether he is gay or not, whether he’s married to Harry or not, whether he’s coming out or not is not our business. We can speculate. And we can talk abou the possibilities, but he doesn’t have to come out. He doesn’t have to tell us anything. And we need to respect his privacy.

#maveratics #maveraticsunite

**youmewe**

I hear you but people just want to know the truth. This is their role model and people want to know if he is who he says he is.

**havwebeenherebefore**

I don’t see why his sexual orientation is relevant to his being a good role model. And if he lied about it, then he lied about it. People lie for all kinds of reasons. He’s already outright owned that he’s a liar. He was a drug addict. They’re kind of known for lying.

**justbreateitin**

Whatever people want to complain about Maverick has said one way or the other how he feels about the speculation. When he comments about it then I’ll reassess my opinions and the way I share them

 

**YouTube Channel, Real Talk Daily: Maverick speaks out about sexuality speculation**

**Mckinley:** So another day another Maverick reappearance. He’s a year and a half into his World Tour and winding down on it, and the latest news has been no about his recently confirmed sixth studio album. Instead it’s been about his sexuality and the resurging rumors he’s dating a man.

**Jackie:** It makes me very uncomfortable the sort of attention this is getting. Even speculating on it. He’s jokingly dismissed these kinds of comments before but now that they’re getting so much attention again I think it’s such a violation of privacy.

**Mckinley:** Ordinarily I would agree with you, but I know who is publicist is. When I was interning as some news outlets, everyone knew Harry Benton-Sterling. He’s a fixer. He literally makes problems like this go away. I got a memo from him to cease and desist on a story that hadn’t even been released yet twenty minutes after we’d gotten confirmation from a source. I mean he’s on top of things. If he hasn’t stopped this, then there’s a reason.

**Jackie:** You think Maverick is seeding a coming out?

**Mckinley:** I think it’s possible. He was recently asked about these fandom speculations and his response was, “I think everyone’s entitled to their own opinion. Speculating isn’t a crime. Thinking I’m gay isn’t illegal or a problem or something to discourage. It’s not a big deal, and I’m more upset about how irrational some people are getting. Live and let live. It’s not your business, your problem, and it’s not hurting anyone. Settle down.” Maverick’s a secret PR maven. He’s _excellent_ at PR. This was a very deliberate move to change the nature of the conversation. He’s also spent the last week using gender neutral pronouns to talk about his spouse. Who he’s called a girlfriend but never called a wife, which I find interesting.

**Jackie:** I didn’t think you’d be on board for this.

**Mckinley:** I’m fascinated and invested. But if we’re speculating on partners, then I’m definitely going to have to throw Harry’s name in. He refuses to fix for politicians but is involved in the tiniest facet of Maverick’s PR? Nope. No way. Not without a reason. And a relationship is a pretty good reason.

 

**Maverick (@MaverickOfficial)**

Home to London and then recording again again again. I’m excited.

 

**Tumblr Post: bringingsadiehome**

> **Things Maverick has said:**
> 
> “My partner and I see a therapist…”
> 
> “I try not to get too caught up on male vs. female drama. It’s not that serious.”
> 
> “Everyone experiments when they’re young, don’t they? I mean I did. That’s how you figure out what you like. It’s science.”
> 
> “I get this sexuality speculation. It’s a miracle it hasn’t happened earlier. Like that time I kissed Harry. Let’s all admit that was weird however it was phrased.”
> 
> “I don’t like the word partner since my spouse has business partners. It’s weird to ask for clarification. Partner or _partner_. And life partner sounds outrageously dramatic.”
> 
> “Coming out or not coming out isn’t up to journalists or fans. Full stop.”
> 
> “This is the first time someone’s ever asked if I’ve ever been fucked. Should I lie?”
> 
> “To be honest, asking what my partner thinks is a loaded question. Like C4 loaded.”
> 
> “People are wise to the pronoun game now aren’t they? Have a little patience.”
> 
> “I can’t go on Dorian Speaks because he encouraged Freudian slips and I’m still in ‘Phase: Neutrality.’ That’s what I’ve been told.”
> 
> “The first girl I kissed was a boy. His name, well, I probably shouldn’t share that actually. I was young. It was bad. Let’s not discuss it.”
> 
> But you’re right, he’s not seeding to come out
> 
> #rolls eyes #seeding #maveratics #harrybentonsterling

 

**Dorian Speaks Transcript**

**Dorian:** You’ve heard it, haven’t you? Say yes. This is a radio show.

**Cherrie:** I’ve heard it. It’s amazing.

**Dorian:** ‘It’ of course is the first single off Maverick’s sixth studio album, _Exhale._ The single, if you haven’t heard it, is on, well, everywhere but I’m only legally allowed to say iTunes and Spotify. It’s called ‘Lower Your Expectations.’

**Cherrie:** I didn’t expect the seriousness from the title. I mean hits home for a lot of people. Expectations vs. reality and having to manage the discrepancy between those two things. Of course here he’s talking about his drug addiction.

**Dorian:** And his relationship. It’s kind of amazing what he manages to pack into a single song.

**Cherrie:** It’s amazing what he can pack into a music video. He’s the king of subtext. The music video is dropping next week and I’ll wait like a psycho fangirl. No shame here.

 

To: teddymaverick96@gmail.com; rory.tannen@godfreygroup.com; preston.duke@godfreygroup.com

Cc: haroldbsterling@sterlingandireland.co.uk; rosemaryireland@sterlingandireland.co.uk

From: jamiedutch@sterlingandireland.co.uk

Subject: RE: RE: Rumor Magazine Interview

I’m confirming the Rumor Magazine Interview today. They want to make sure this is prepped before the second single and ready for release the morning after the People’s Choice Award. Also I received an email from OUT regarding the upcoming, well, everything. They’ve sent a request for an interview following.

Best,

Jamie Dutch

 

**Irial Dorian (@DorianII)**

@MaverickOfficial dropped ‘Him’ and the whole Internet exploded. So did I tbh. Mind-splosim

 

**Janny Stans (@janleemav)**

‘Him’ aka the ballad that suddenly makes me understand why this was kept under wraps so long.

 

**Maverick (@MaverickOfficial)**

@janleemav maybe I just like to be shady?

 

**Lowcountry Girl (@hensley9804)**

@MaverickOfficial wouldn’t be the first time…#sorrynotsorry

 

**Maverick (@MaverickOfficial)**

@janleemav @hensley9804 you’re the WhatsApp girls, right? Is it really shade if you researched my life for confirmation? No complaints

 

**The Lion Queen (@sassysavvy)**

@MaverickOffical we have none but we’re very excited to see where this goes.

 

**Maverick (@MaverickOfficial)**

@janleemav @hensley9804 @sassysavvy I’m so amused but I see why you drive Harry crazy.

* * *

**January 2023**

“Nervous?”

“I’m not.”

“It’s okay to be nervous.”

“I said I’m not.”

“It’s your coming out.”

Harry sighed and turned to Theodore with frustration and exasperation that brought a smile to his face. He socked him lightly in the ribs. Theodore responded by catching his hand and weaving their fingers together. “It’s _your_ coming out. I’m already out. Everyone knows that I’m out.”

“He gets it,” Rory interrupted with a long-suffering sigh.

Theodore leaned into Harry and whispered, “It’s okay that you’re nervous.”

“Do I look nervous?” Harry demanded furiously.

“Yes.”

Rory leaned against Washington, looking up and batting her eyelashes at him. “Can we muzzle them?”

“You’re going to ask Iri for one of his and Cris’s kinky sex toys?” Harry sniggered while Rory gaped at Washington, eyes wide with betrayal. The car slowed, and Washington peered out the window, expression growing inscrutable in an awe-inspiring and yet emotional paralyzing feat. Everyone was pretending _they_ weren’t nervous. Harry wasn’t. He trusted his plan, even if he didn’t it was too late to turn back now. “We’re here.”

Theodore blew out a jagged breath and turned to look over at Harry anxiously. “We’ve got this right? I’m fine. You’re fine. Everything’s…”

“Fine,” Harry interrupted him, reaching across him to pop open the car door and startling everyone into action.

Washington climbed out, holding the door open with a stricken expression as Harry followed. He buttoned his black Dolce & Gabbana blazer over his black dress shirt. Tugging nervously at the hem of his golden brown scarf, Harry bent down ato help Theodore out of the car, ignoring the impish smile Theodore sent him before shift from Theodore into Maverick as the cameras flashed. He helped Rory out, the earbud going into her ear as she met Washington’s eye and dropped Harry’s hat on his head.

Theodore’s version of dressing up still amounted to a pair of black skinny jeans without rips, a button-up Givenchy shirt unbuttoned to an almost decent degree, and a leather jacket no matter the temperature in Los Angeles. His braided hair was half-hidden beneath a beanie as though the heat wasn’t stifling. It was a miracle he managed to make it through red carpet events without passing out considering the sheer amount of layers he wore.

He glanced back at Harry who nodded.

Maverick painted on a smirk and started forward while Rory, Washington, and Harry trailed behind. Jamie had come ahead of time to make sure that they had all their bases covered. Theodore was only up for two awards, one for his first single and the other for his collaboration with Alina, ‘Things We Did (That We Knew We Shouldn’t)’ so the only reason Theodore had deigned to show up at all was because he was a hopeless romantic.

‘Symmetry,’ he’d said delightedly, ‘how when we first met you had me drop you off at a dog park so you wouldn’t be seen with me. Let’s not do that again.’

“Maverick, it’s been a long time since we’ve seen you walk a red carpet,” Rebecca Cantorini called out. He greeted her with a charming smile, linking his pinky through the button loop of Harry’s shirt to tug him along for the ride. He’d rather hide with Rory and Washington, but this had been his brainchild. Judging from the amusement on Washington and Rory’s faces, they were enjoying this more and more by the minute. “Who are you wearing?”

Maverick blinked at her dumbly before laughing. “Is this a social experiment? One of those advertising questions we ask girls but have now turned onto guys? I applaud you, but I have no idea. My stylist told me to wear this.”

“Givenchy, it’s Givenchy.” Harry said under his breath with a sigh.

Turning to grin at him, Maverick shrugged and beamed, “Givenchy, then. How many females actually know when you ask them that? Or do they have someone feed them that information? I’m asking for a friend.” He smiled and winked at her while Rebecca laughed.

Harry put a hand on his hips, shoving him along.

Maverick waved her goodbye like a fallen prince retreating into exile. Harry sighed, and Maverick looked over at him, beaming. He leaned closer to whisper in his ear pretending not to see the dozens of cameras, reporters, and hosts now focused on them. “You’re fun on the red carpet.”

“You’re exhausting,” Harry replied fiercely. “Is this why even Preston doesn’t press your aversion to them?”

“I can’t help being this charming.”

“You actually can,” Harry argued as they kept walking. “This is like you extra. You plus. You when I’m not paying you enough attention. You choose to be smarmy levels of charming.”

“The press has never complained,” Maverick reported genuinely. The façade bled away for just a moment, eyes catching and holding, smile softening to something more sincere. Then the press called his name, and Theodore was gone replaced by Maverick.

Harry laughed and allowed Maverick to tug him towards the reporter.

“Mckinley Pope!” Maverick greeted her when the YouTuber startled and pointed at her chest with a burgeoning smile.

“You remember me?”

“You interviewed me for a magazine article. And you do that YouTube show, Real Talk Daily.” Maverick reported with a sharp smile that made Mckinley’s eyes widen. She laughed nervously and looked between the pair of them, but if she’d done something to pick up a fight with Maverick, that was on her. He was even less inclined to intervene in Maverick’s business than Theodore’s, which made them sound like a split personality rather than, well, an alter ego to be exact. “You have a fascinating take on my sexuality. What do you think now?”

Harry was surprised at the opening and at the apparent favoritism Maverick had for Mckinley. So, it seemed, was Mckinley.

“Well, you’re second single ‘Him’ basically exploded the internet. There’s been a lot of online speculation regarding your sexuality. And I imagine a homoerotic song about falling in love—lust?—with a man would do that when everyone’s been convinced for over a decade that you’re straight and married.”

“And what do you think?” Mckinley hesitated, eyes darting to Harry who regarded her thoughtfully. “Don’t mind Harry,” Maverick teased, tugging him closer by his sleeve. “Hurry hurry we have to keep moving. What do you think?”

“I think you’re gay.”

Maverick nodded and shrugged, “I think you’re probably right.” He intertwined his fingers through Harry’s and twisted his hand to press a kiss to the back of it. It was a possessive gesture, a claim, and flashed Harry’s wedding ring in a theatrical fashion that Mckinley’s mouth dropping open in shock. Smirking, Maverick started to walk away.

Harry paused and met Mckinley’s shocked eyes. “You’re absolutely right. If I hadn’t wanted it speculated on, I would have made it disappear. I’m good at that.”

Mckinley swayed like she was about to pass out, and Maverick laughed tugging Harry closer to him with their interlocked hands.

“Stop scaring the press.”

“That’s literally what I live for,” Harry replied tonelessly, turning to Maverick. He grinned and batted his eyelashes expectantly. “Do it, then. I know you want to. You live to shock people.”

“I’m only doing this because you won’t let me talk about Antifa,” Theodore said in a breathy whisper, cupping Harry’s cheek and press their lips together in a slow, sensual kiss that was neither overwhelmingly crude nor a peck that people would somehow manage to misinterpret as friendship.

Harry pressed his lips together and met Theodore’s eyes. “If that stop you from ranting publicly about Antifa, I’ll take it.”

“So,” Theodore drawled, fingers tracing down the column of Harry’s throat. “What should we do about Black Lives Matter?”

Laughing, Harry shoved Theodore away from him. “Work,” he ordered.

Sweet smile turned into a salacious smirk, and he marveled how in a split second he could transition from one persona to the other.

“Maverick, this isn’t your usual date,” Keke Ramos said slyly.

Maverick didn’t bat and eyelash, lips curving up in a coy smirk. “I don’t understand why. Don’t I always come to these things when a friend that the press blows up as my next fling and inevitably has to retract? Do you think that’s what’s going to happen this time?”

“Do you kiss all your PR dates like that?”

“Pretty much,” Harry and Maverick agreed together after a moment’s consideration. She looked momentarily stunned, but Harry was guiding Maverick away before she could recover her footing.

They were stopped so that Maverick could pose for pictures before Harry stepped into the barrage of shots likely intended for tomorrow’s speculation about Maverick’s relationship with Harry. He pressed a hand against Maverick’s lower back and nudged him away from the photographs. Maverick’s lips curved up in a smirk.

“Do you think we could pretend for the length of the red carpet that I’m the dominant male in this relationship?” Maverick whispered in his ear, pressing his body against Harry side and thumb hooking on his pants, fingertip brushing his skin.

“First, stop reading psychology books,” Harry said under his breath. “Second, do you think you can manage that?”

Maverick sputtered, starting to argue when Harry cut him off with another deep kiss. They tongues brushed in the barest whisper of a touch, and Maverick moaned, deepening the kiss instinctively, hands gripping Harry’s hips in a painful grip. He whined slightly as Harry pulled away, pupils dilated.

Harry laughed hoarsely and shook his head. “That’s what I thought.”

Grinning blissfully, Maverick let himself be led down the red carpet, heated gaze on Harry. “That’s okay. It would only shatter the illusion when the truth eventually came out.”

“Why? You’re a good liar.”

“Not with your tongue in my mouth,” Maverick answered with a mischievous smile.

Noah Lukovic glanced at Harry as Maverick stopped to talk to him, pressing close to Harry and hands intertwined. Shooting a glance at his producer, she hesitated before shaking her head, unsure if she wanted to deal with the fallout of pissing off either of them with annoying questions. The two of them together seemed to have the added effect of making sure everyone watched their manners.

“It’s an exciting night for you. Up for two awards. How do you feel?”

“Excellent,” Maverick confessed with a lascivious smile and a quick glance at Harry. He rolled his eyes balefully and moved discreetly to pinch Maverick’s side. He went taut, inhaling sharply and blinking to keep himself calm.

“There’s a rumor going around that you were best man at Benji Irving’s wedding. I had no idea you two were even close like that.”

“Really?” Maverick asked, deadpan. “Harry, aren’t they the first people who picked up that story about me dating that guy I was with in the grocery store. Benji. That guy.”

Harrry studied Noah unnecessarily until he flinched. Harry smiled. “Definitely the ones.”

Maverick nodded, “Isn’t it normal to be best man at your lover’s wedding. I thought that was normal. Don’t you?” Rolling his eyes, he turned and made it look like Harry had been the one ushering him away from that confrontation. Their eyes met, and Maverick winked playfully, pressing a kiss to the corner of Harry’s mouth, teasing as he started to the next reporter.

Harry grabbed his wrist and tugged him back into a brutal kiss. Maverick moaned audibly, eyes rolling back with Harry nipped his bottom lip. Catching his face, Maverick kissed him again, tongues dancing together in a heady public display entirely unsuited to their location. Breaking the kiss, they pressed their foreheads together.

“You told me no excess PDA on the red carpet,” Maverick pouted.

“Did I?” Harry asked dumbly, giving him another llinger peck and pulling back before Maverick could deepen the kiss. “I should probably listen to my own advice.”

“Tease,” Maverick bemoaned, though the smile on his face betrayed his own enjoyment of what was quickly becoming a game. And the more the press stared and whispered and speculated, the more it seemed to spur Maverick on. Pulling Harry with him, Maverick stopped only for KC Reiss, Maggie’s former minion, to freeze in place, smile frozen. Maverick smirked evilly while Harry watched her coolly. “KC Reiss. You finally got a job. Does this one include outing celebrities or have you retired from that field?”

Her producer looked panicked, eyes darting between Maverick and Harry like she didn’t know who was worse.

“You remember KC, don’t you Harry?”

“I’ll never forget the face of the girl who stalked us for the rest of my life. Not her name. Not her face. Not all the stuff I learned in her background check. How is you mom, Elise? Did she get the treatments for her breast cancer?”

KC’s mouth fell open in shock. She threw a desperate look at her producer who threw her hands up in the air like she was pleading to the heavens. Maverick and Harry exchanged a bemused glance before refocusing on KC. Panicked, she met Maverick’s eyes bravely, unable to look at her Harry.

“I’m glad you got a new job,” Harry said surprising KC. Maverick looked at him from the corner of his eye, waiting. “It’s a shame your poor sick mother had such a heartless, immoral wretch for a daughter. She deserved better. I did you a favor. Or, well, Elise a favor.”

Maverick sighed like the whole endeavor was tiresome and offered them a quick goodbye before he and Harry walked away.

“You enjoy this,” Harry said under his breath.

“Don’t get me wrong,” Maverick said reading his underlying question. “It’s at least a little about the coming out. I’m possessive. I like everyone to know exactly who you belong to.” Harry rolled his eyes but didn’t hide his amused smirk. “But I always knew you’d be fun to play with. I have to be mean with a smile. You just get to be mean.”

“The press is scared of us,” Harry informed him.

“Good.” He stopped walking and turned to Harry with serious expression. “They’re going to spend days debating and speculating even with the article, picking over every inch of my life the last decade trying to figure out where all of this started. The least they can do is be scared of us while we’re in their face. It will encourage good behavior or weed out troublesome people.”

Harry studied him silently, a sudden rush of affection threatening to overwhelm his composure. “I think you’re scarier than I am.”

“I want to file to be foster parents. I don’t want to adopt and I don’t think in-vitro is something we need until there stops being a plethora of abandoned children. But we have time and money and skills that we could give a child.” Theodore said the words cautiously like they weren’t in front of cameras and press and his colleagues. Like he was afraid Harry would say no.

“I know,” he said with a slight smile, “that’s why I filed the paperwork a week ago. It’ll take awhile for it to go through and them to clear us.”

“What?” Theodore asked trying to hide the tears in his eyes.

Harry smiled timidly and shrugged, “I know you just as well as you know me. Between Raleigh and Iri’s kid and our growing brood of mammalian Asian royalty, I’m not totally oblivious. We can do fostering. I think we can probably do pretty much anything,” he confided in a whisper.

And they could. Tomorrow there would be press. There would be TV shows and radio broadcasts, newspapers and blogs, all reporting on Maverick’s sexuality. Harry knew it would take a week of painstaking proof before people would even believe the story was true and not some concocted celebrity craziness that could easily be explained away. Then there would be video shoots and studio sessions and minor emergencies Harry would have to leave the continent to deal with. Rosie would fight with Benji. Iri would need a babysitter when the kids exhausted him. Salem would invite him and Theodore to some weird couple’s retreat in the Amazon to go ziplining over a river and they’d bitch but go and enjoy themselves. And there would be press and promo and publicity Harry would rather hide behind than stand in front of. But…

Theodore grinned. “Yeah? So you gonna help me play with the press?”

“Sure babe,” Harry said with an answering grin, “for the rest of our lives.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First, if Antifa is still a word I have to say in 2023, then there's no hope for the world. Second, foster kids, considering Theodore's past, just makes sense. I had planned to include a scene of them fostering in this book but the trajectory just didn't work. He's busy and young and still dealing, only just getting stable by the last chapter so ta-da.
> 
> There are such a lot of James Arthur song titles. I just recommend everyone check out his album tbh. He wrote a whole album about overcoming his drug addiction and how it almost destroyed his career, inspiring a lot of these chapters.
> 
> This has been such a fun ride. Thank you everyone for coming with on this journey.


End file.
